The Box At Paiute Bluff
by TracyLeeT
Summary: A day of relaxation unleashes a mystery for Adam Cartwright and his family.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Uneven ground slowed his approach. He dodged his way from the barn to the porch, the aroma of simmering beef drifting beyond the screen door. His fingers grasped the cool handle, the door's hinges screeched, and he froze in place, thankful the sound was masked by the rattle of the stew pot's lid.

Silently, he slipped into the house, his chest constricting as he flattened himself against the wall. Hidden by the entry's china cabinet, he watched with guarded breath as she grasped two bowls and placed them alongside the cast iron stove.

Spoons clanked against the china as they were dropped inside, and she removed her apron and tossed it across the chair. Humming, she crossed the room, opened the buffet drawer, and removed a large, serrated knife and two linen napkins. After placing the items on the buffet, she tediously folded the napkins to her satisfaction.

He dared to step further into the kitchen. A floorboard creaked, and he silently cursed the interruption. Before he could move, she closed the drawer with her hip.

"Well, I was wondering how long it would take you to smell the . . ." Shock replaced the warmth in her eyes. "Who are you? Get out. Get out of this house!"

"Not until I get my money!"

Her chin quivered as she pressed herself back against the buffet.

He stepped closer. "Where . . . is . . . my . . . money?"

"What money? I do not know what you're talking about!" Her eyes darted to the screen door.

"You expectin' someone?"

The movement of her head was nearly imperceptible. "No, no one."

For a moment, he considered her face. "You'll never make it to that door." The fear in her eyes spawned his satisfied grin. "Now, where's the money? Answer me!"

"I do not know, I mean, I have a dollar, maybe two in my reticu . . ."

He charged forward, forcing himself against her. "A dollar or two?" He seized her by the waist and she cried out. "I'm tired of hidin' and watchin' and waitin'! Now, where is it?"

"I d-do not know wh-what money you're t-talking a-ab-about."

"Don't lie to me, old woman." He pressed his palms against the shelf as he leaned heavily against her, bending her back along the buffet. "That money's mine, do you hear me? It's not where I left it, and someone on this ranch knows where it is!"

"I-It is not me, I **_swear_**!" She threw her weight forward, wielding the knife. Her suddenness caught him by surprise, and as they twisted, she managed to step to the side, forcing them sideways.

He grabbed her arm with both hands, and she wailed as his tightening grip released her tears.

Feeling her strength wane, he grinned through taut lips. The knife slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. Bending her arm, he thrust it behind her back, his hot breath assaulting her neck. "Now, for the last time, where is my money?"

Her eyes held fast to his. "The bedroom."

He snickered as he stepped back, still holding fast to her arm and waist. "That's more like it. Show me."

She inhaled deeply and said a silent prayer. "I will show you."

Her strength outweighed her suddenness. Amid groans and a string of obscenities, he doubled in half, protecting himself from another assault by her knee.

Free from his grasp, she toppled to the floor. He fought to collect himself as she scrambled for the fallen knife. He lunged for her and together they rolled and writhed. Outstretched fingertips grappled for the weapon. On the stove, the stew pot's lid clanked amid vicious groans and desperate pleas.

As they scuffled, her arm's swift brush sent the knife spinning across the floor and beneath a tall cabinet. Suddenly, his weight gone, she gasped for air. He rose to all fours, unsteady, and crawled toward the knife.

Reaching beneath the cabinet, he snatched up the weapon, his palms pressing heavily against the shelves as he pulled himself to his feet. He took a moment to gain his bearings, then spun suddenly at the sound of the pot lid clanking against the floor.

"No!" he screamed. In an instant, the dripping pot hit the floor with a crash; he roared and covered his scalded face with his hands. His screams filled the house, the boiling stew splattered against his skin, the knife whirling out of reach.

He heard her dash for the door, and, nearly blinded by pain, grabbed for her apron. Gripping the fabric in his fists, he charged for the door and from behind, looped the apron around her neck. Her head jerked up and back and he smiled at her hands clawing desperately at the fabric noose.

"You're not getting away with this! I'll find my money and you can go to hell!"

Tightening his pull, he grinned at the final gurgles of life. After a moment, he abandoned the assault, and her body crumpled to the floor. As he stepped away, he swiped at the bits of meat and carrots still clinging to his cheeks. "I'll get what's mine," he shouted, stepping over her body and moving deeper into the house.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Dusk loomed on the horizon, and the serenity along the trail fostered Adam's smile. He considered extending his well-earned day off, scanning the landscape for an inviting spot to camp for the night. Rounding the bend, his eyes were drawn further down the path to a dense patch of sage, its foliage shaped peculiarly.

With a gentle tug, Adam reined Sport to a slower gait. He surveyed the trail, and the hair on his neck prickled. With a gently nudge, Sport continued on, and Adam's right hand sought the comfort of his holster. Up ahead, gouged into a patch of sagebrush, he spied a burrow that would have gone unnoticed by most passersby.

Standing in the stirrups, he craned his neck, shielding his eyes against the glare of the setting sun. The tension of his stance concerned Sport, and the chestnut pawed nervously at the ground. "Easy, boy," Adam whispered, reaching down to stroke the horse's thick, chocolate mane.

Sport nodded, and Adam dismounted, intent on a closer look at the tamped brush along the mouth of the nearly hidden hollow. Crouching at the low-lying entrance, he marveled; the cavity in the mysterious undergrowth was too big for a rabbit, too small for a bear. He propped his elbow on his thigh and scratched at the back of his neck. Who or what made this, and why?

At the mouth of the opening, a shadow danced by, and Adam stretched his neck, studying the thick, frothy clouds forming in the sky. A breeze caressed the back of his head and curled across his cheek and, once again, Adam peered into the clearing. Something just didn't add up. He rose, his hands on his hips. "The only thing on the other side of this grove of trees is . . ."

A sound in the distance silenced him. His head snapped sharply to the left, his hand moved immediately to his gun. Quickly, he gathered Sport's reins and led the horse toward the fork on the trail. "We'll go in the back door," he said softly. "Seems as if we've got company."

Adam's senses were razor sharp as he walked Sport along the narrowing path. The mounting cloud-cover ebbed and flowed, shifting the shadows, testing Adam's senses. More than once he stopped abruptly as the sun cast shapes on the ground before him. Twice he bristled as the wind danced among the trees and rustled leaves and branches.

When they came to another opening in the brush, Adam crouched, examining the snapped twigs and matted grass leading into the woods beyond. Quickly, he tethered Sport to a low-hanging branch, patting him on the shoulder before walking toward the breach. Hesitating, Adam stepped forward, and hesitated again. **_I've been by here hundreds of times, but this . . . this is new._** Touching his holster, he inhaled and cautiously made his way into the woods.

Three minutes slipped away, leaving behind cracked boughs in the underbrush and footprints in the spongy soil. The sounds of birdsong and the drone of insects faded in Adam's mind leaving an eerie silence interrupted by nothing but his heartbeat and the puzzle buzzing in his head. What was the source of the sound he'd heard?

The snap of a thick twig under the weight of his boot brought Adam to a sudden halt, and he squatted, drawing his pistol slicker than a gunfighter on his best day. After several tense moments, Adam noticed the jagged edge of the twig sticking out from beneath his boot. He smiled, shook his head, and slipped his gun back into place. **_You're getting jumpy in your old age!_**

He rose to his feet and snatched the broken twig from the ground. **_I'm hot, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm chasing noises in the woods!_** He shook his head. **_I've never been prone to hallucinations._** He couldn't help smiling. **_That's Hoss's department._** He slipped off his hat, wiped his brow on the forearm of his sleeve, and slapped it back atop his head. **_Onward and upward._**

Following the path for several more yards, he heard a rustling in the distance. He slowed, his senses alert to every sight, sound, and smell. Peering through the low-hanging branches, he froze at the sight awaiting him in the brush up ahead.

**_What the . . . It's a kid! Can't be more than six or seven years old._** Adam grabbed hold of a thick bough and gently coaxed it downward. Through scrunched eyes, he saw the child sitting on the ground in front of a makeshift tent. **_Old sheets and a piece of wood for a support._** Adam hunkered down for a better view. **_Tattered hat, torn clothing, bare feet. What's he doing out here?_**

He watched as the child, his back to Adam, mumbled and moaned, working fervently on something yet to be seen.

"I just came from town," Adam thought, "and no one mentioned a missing boy."

"I don't wanna do this anymore!" the child shouted, bounding to bared feet, broken glass scattered in the grass. With fisted hands, the child stomped beneath the suspended tarp.

Adam's instincts took hold. He holstered his pistol and started toward the tent.

Inside, the child waved a hand, the sun reflecting against shiny metal.

What was this child doing with a gun? Adam dropped down once again and listened to the frustrated voice coming from the tent.

"I'm hot!" The child brandished the gun in the air.

Adam cringed. **_No one's taught him how to handle . . ._**

"I'm tired!" the child shouted, tossing the gun on the ground.

Adam inhaled through pursed lips. **_He's gonna hurt himself or someone el-_**

"I'm hungry!" The child pounded a fist against one thigh.

Adam's fingertips rubbed against his pistol grip. **_That boy's working up quite a lather._**

"And I'm . . ." the child's strangled words faded as trembling hands slid the gun beneath a threadbare quilt. "I'm scared."

Faint mews and pulsing shoulders touched Adam's heart, and he released the grip on his gun and quietly sank back on his haunches. As he watched, the child skidded into the corner of the tent, dropped a weary head against drawn knees, and fought in vain to stifle tears of desperation. Slowly, Adam rose and made his way closer, and when the child's cries blossomed into sobs, Adam hastened his steps. Moving past the last low hanging branches, he folded his hands across his chest and called out, hoping to lessen the child's impending alarm.

"Hello in the tent," Adam said, dipping his head to see inside.

The child twisted sharply, diving forward, frantic to reach the gun hidden within reach.

"Easy now," Adam said softly, "I'm not going to-"

The child spun around, gun in hand, and leapt onto bared feet, swollen eyes staring at the pointed barrel.

Adam froze, raising his hands and his brows. "Whoa, now." He locked eyes with the boy before taking two steps backward.

The child stood on trembling legs, head shaking fiercely. "I'm not going with you!" His ragged hat fell to the ground.

"You're not a . . . You're a . . ." Adam stammered.

"And you're . . . You're not him," the girl whispered, gaping up at the man dressed from head to toe in black. With one tentative step backward, she slipped her finger against the trigger and shook her head. "I won't go. I won't let you take me back. I just want to find my momma!"

Her voice radiated both fear and anger, and had it not been for her finger curled tightly against the trigger, Adam's instinct would have been to rush protectively to her side. Instead, he raised his hands higher and stood his ground.

The waif's penetrating eyes locked onto his and moments later, Adam watched as her anger tempered, leaving apprehension behind.

She tilted her head questioningly, and the slight movement caused her to wobble.

As her hand dropped to her side, the gun zigged and zagged, and although Adam's protective nature begged him toward her, the gun held him fast to his spot.

Through deep brown eyes, she stared blankly as the gun fell with a thud, and when her legs gave way, Adam lunged forward, just as the frail little girl crumpled to the ground.

"Easy there," Adam said, kicking the gun away and catching the unconscious girl in comforting arms. Pulling her tightly against his chest, he gently brushed strands of mud-caked hair from her forehead. He drew a sharp breath at the sight of numerous bruises, including a severely blackened eye. Adam's stomach roiled, anger rising in his core. His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened as he watched her chest rise and fall against the tattered cotton nightshirt. "Who could . . ." he began, the unthinkable fading into private thoughts. What kind of monster could do this to a child?

"A doctor," Adam said, his glance rushing over the crude camp. "I need to get you to a doctor. Virginia City's too far. I-I need to get you to the Ponderosa."

Holding the girl securely, Adam knelt and reached for the quilt near the back of the tent. As he shook it open, letting it fall against the ground, a small, folded paper tumbled next to Adam's boot. Laying the girl on the quilt, he wrapped her in its meager warmth, slid his arm beneath her, and hugged her once again against his chest. As he started to stand, he caught sight of the paper, and a nagging voice encouraged him to snatch it from the ground.

Adam quickly made his way through the brush and back to Sport. Gently, he placed the bundled girl across his saddle and slowly mounted behind her. Shifting her onto his lap, he let her head slip into the crook of his arm. "Let's go home, boy," Adam said quietly, and when Sport rounded the first bend along the trail, Adam opened his palm, the folded square staring up at his questioning eyes. With one hand, he managed to spread it open, and after a quick look at the unconscious girl, Adam read aloud. "Wanted dead or alive. Jubal Crocker."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

As they rounded the barn, Adam shoved the wanted poster into his shirt pocket and tightened the tension on Sport's bridle. The gelding responded, slowing his pace. Instinct took over, and the horse went straight to the hitching post, taking his usual place next to Cochise.

"Good boy," Adam said quietly as he adjusted his hold on the unconscious girl. Cradling her against his chest, he slipped effortlessly from his saddle and sped to the front door. The snap of the latch brought a sigh of relief, and when the door swung open, Adam stood face to face with his father.

"Adam?" Ben moved aside as Adam side-stepped through the doorway.

"She needs a doctor, Pa," Adam replied as Ben hurried to open the guest room door. "Send Joe."

At that moment, Joe rounded the corner, a half-eaten apple in his hand. "Send Joe whe . . . ?"

Ben turned down the bed, tucking the small, square pillows beneath his arm. "Joseph, ride for Doctor Martin."

"Yes, sir," Joe said as he watched Adam place the girl atop the bed. "How bad is she hurt?"

"I don't know," Adam said.

Ben pulled a second quilt from the bedside chair and draped it over the child.

"Joe, wait! Here." Adam snatched the paper from his pocket and passed it to his brother. "Send Paul, then take this to Sheriff Coffee. Go, Joe, and hurry!"

Joe nodded and vanished from the doorway.

"Hop Sing get basin and water. Little missy have many cut, many bruise." He backed out of the room, returning Ben's look of approval.

Adam leaned down and brushed a stray wisp of hair from the girl's forehead. She shifted and moaned at his touch, and both Adam and Ben moved to comfort her. Together, they removed her tattered blouse, leaving her sweat-stained undershirt.

"Adam, who is she? What happened to her?"

Adam stared at the child and shook his head, looking up as Hop Sing returned with a basin of cool water. "I don't know, Pa."

Ben glanced at the bruises along the girl's arm. "Well, then, son, while we're waiting for Paul, maybe you'd better start from the beginning."

While Ben removed her trousers, Adam lifted a damp cloth to her forehead, tenderly wiping the dirt from her skin.

"You remember what I said at breakfast this morning? That after three weeks of timber negotiations, the stage with the broken axle, and Sport losing a shoe, all I wanted was a day of well-earned rest?" Adam dipped the cloth back into the water and squeezed away the excess. "Well, I had my day at the lake, and on my way home, I saw something that just didn't seem right."

Ben's brow begged for more details.

"The next thing I knew," Adam continued, ever attentive to the little girl, "I heard shattering glass, followed a trail, and found a young boy that turned out to be this little girl."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Dusk settled quickly over the Ponderosa. Exiled from the guest room by Doctor Martin, Adam and Ben busied themselves lighting the living room's oil lamps while Joe added numerous logs to the simmering fire.

"There must be more to it. That poster is more than a year old, and Jubal Crocker was captured, tried, and sentenced." Adam adjusted the wick on the final lamp. "Why on earth would she be carrying the poster? And who, or what, is she running from?"

"I know it's difficult, son, but we're in the dark until Roy gets more information. Or until that little one in there regains consciousness."

Less than ten minutes earlier, Joe had returned from Virginia City with the doctor and news that the town's sheriff, Roy Coffee, had recognized the name on the wanted poster found in the little girl's camp. By the time Joe'd left Sheriff Coffee's jailhouse, he carried with him the promise that the lawman would send a wire to Carson City. By morning, Roy hoped to bring new insight into the child's plight, and he'd agreed to ride to the ranch as soon as his wire was answered.

With so many unknowns whispering and taunting their thoughts, Hoss's arrival in the front yard went unnoticed until his footfall on the porch boards. When the front door flew open, it was Ben who stilled his middle son's concerned reaction.

"What's Doc Martin doin' he-"

"Sh, Hoss, keep your voice down."

As his father spoke, Hoss took a head-count of his loved ones in the room.

"What's goin'," flinching beneath his father's glare, Hoss immediately lowered his voice. "What's goin' on?"

Ben placed a hand on Hoss's shoulder, then directed all three of his sons toward his desk.

"Doctor Martin's in the guest room, Hoss. He's examining our . . . guest."

Hoss looked to his brothers for more information.

Adam scratched the side of his neck. "I guess it can't hurt to go through it all again. Maybe there's something we've missed."

Hoss watched Adam closely as the story unfolded, taking note that his older brother's gaze drifted repeatedly toward the guest room, and when the recounting ended, Hoss shook his head in disgust. "How could anyone hurt a little gal like that?"

"It's beyond my comprehension, Hoss." Ben turned to the guest room across the way. "Let's just hope Adam's day off has put an end to that child's suffering."

"I don't know about an end," Paul Martin said as he quietly exited the guest room, "but Betsy Ann's injuries have been treated, she's warm, and she's safe. Now, let's hope Roy comes by tomorrow with the information needed to keep her that way."

Adam was on his feet and at the doctor's side. "Betsy Ann?"

Paul nodded. "That's right. Betsy Ann Reid."

Ben folded his arms as he crossed the room. "Reid. I don't know of a family by that name."

Shaking heads confirmed that no one knew the name, and the anxious Cartwrights gathered around the doctor in the living room.

"Paul?" Adam's tone was impatient.

"Well, she'll be fine after a few days of rest, warm food, water, the basics."

Disgust tainted Hoss's face. "What about her injuries?"

Paul's expression darkened. "She's exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry. Those three things are why she's been in and out of consciousness. She has numerous cuts and bruises. Her eye's going to be sore for a while, but there doesn't appear to be any permanent damage.

"She was awake and alert for a few minutes. She wasn't really talkative. As I said, she's exhausted. In fact, I'd wager she hasn't slept well in weeks. I gave her a little something. She should sleep through the night." Paul snapped the closure on his medical bag. "She did manage to whisper her name, that she's trying to find her mother,-"

Adam's jaw flexed anxiously. "And?"

The words needed to be said, although everyone knew what there were.

"And that she's been running from the man who gave her the black eye and the bruises, a man named Jubal Crocker."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I guess I'm not hungry after all." Adam's chair scraped the floor as he pushed away from the table.

All eyes watched as he stepped toward the silent bedroom.

Standing quietly in the doorway, he watched Betsy Ann's chest rise and fall. He marveled at how small she looked as she slept, safe in the ranch house on the Ponderosa, but when her tiny hand twitched in slumber, he was drawn yet again to her battered arms and face. **_What sort of monster does this to a defenseless child?_** Stepping inside, he quietly cleared the small bedside table, making room for a tray. **_Paul said broth and water. Hop Sing makes tasty broth._**

As he slid the oil lamp to the back of the table, Betsy Ann exhaled harshly. He glanced at the girl, the yellow checked coverlet still drawn neatly beneath her chin. When she stirred no further, he dropped lightly into the bedside chair, propped his elbows on his thighs, and cradled his chin atop his laced fingers. Closing weary eyes, he retraced his journey into the crude campsite. Lost in thought, he jerked suddenly when his father placed a crowded tray atop the table.

Ben offered a sandwich, and Adam looked up into his father's insistent eyes. He couldn't stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he reached for the first bit of food he'd had since breakfast. **_Always the father, always the child._** He sampled the sandwich, savoring the thin spreading of tangy mustard that had always been his favorite. **_Of course, he remembered_**_. _With his father's nod of approval, Adam helped himself to a cup of steaming coffee, and as he sipped the fresh brew, Ben squeezed his shoulder then quietly left the room.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As evening unfolded, Adam's eyes bore the events of the day. Each time Ben peeked into the guest room, he hoped to see his son rewarded with the sleep he so dearly needed. But as the clock chimed eleven, he found Adam staring, willing the young girl to open her eyes. He steadied himself against the door frame, celebrating his son's compassion.

Moments later, Ben dipped his head and turned to the roaring fire across the room. Joe and Hoss sat on the settee, outwardly absorbed in their second game of checkers. **_They're just as worried as Adam and I are._**

Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, Ben ambled to his chair. He reached for his book, hesitated, and opted instead for the cup of tepid coffee sitting on the table. As he relaxed into the chair's back cushion, he caught a glimpse of Hoss craning his neck toward the guest room door. **_These boys of mine won't be getting much rest until we have some answers._**

Sipping his coffee, Ben's eyes trailed to the hearth. **_How long was she out there, living under that, that sheet? How long has she been hungry, afraid? _**

****"King me." Hoss's voice was subdued.

Joe's response was lukewarm. "You win."

Ben leaned forward and placed his cup on the edge of the table. "Why don't you both go upstairs and try to get some sleep?"

Hoss's eyes met Joe's, and then they turned to their father.

"You should do the same, Pa." Joe stood and gathered the checkers in his hands.

"Joe's right, Pa. Adam ain't gonna leave that little gal. No need for you to stay up all night."

Ben glanced at the guest room door. "All right then, let's get some sleep."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Through the open shutters, morning crept into the dining room.

"Keep your voices down," Ben said softly, leaving his early morning coffee to gather his youngest sons.

As quietly as possible, Hoss and Joe descended, their father meeting them at the foot of the stairs.

"They're both asleep." Ben waved them on, pointing past the dining room to the kitchen.

When they rounded the corner, the smells of bacon and biscuits saturated the air. Joe and Hoss settled in at the kitchen table as Ben loaded their morning fare onto the plates.

Hoss smiled sheepishly, and Joe winked in response.

"You make all of this, Pa?"

Ben took his seat and unfolded his napkin. "No, Joseph, I did not make all of this. Hop Sing prepared breakfast, then he left to get supplies in Virginia City."

Hoss's grin widened. "Reckon I'll be havin' seconds after all."

Joe chuckled as he stabbed at the butter dish with his knife. His biscuit, dripping with the sweet spread, was halfway to his mouth when he heard the sound of a rider approaching.

Ben hurried to the kitchen door and out into the yard. Seconds later, he escorted Sheriff Roy Coffee into the kitchen.

Roy seated himself next to Ben. "How's your little houseguest?"

Ben scooped a small helping of eggs onto a plate. "She's asleep, and that's good. Adam was with her all night." He handed the eggs to Roy.

"I thank you, but I had my breakfast in town. As a matter of fact, I received a reply of sorts to my wire while I was eating at the café."

Ben poured another cup of coffee and slid it in front of the sheriff. "What have you found out, Roy?"

"U.S. Marshal Douglas Drake, from Carson City, showed up this morning to answer my wire in person. Rode all night long to get here."

"I know Douglas well, though I haven't seen him in several years."

"He mentioned having met you, Ben, and the first thing he told me was the little girl's name. Betsy Ann Reid."

Ben nodded. "She came to last night, just long enough to tell Paul her name and that she's looking for her mother and running from Jubal Crocker."

Roy shook his head in disgust. "According to Marshal Drake, Betsy Ann lives on a ranch just outside of Carson City."

"Carson City?" Joe's eyes bulged with wonder. "How did that little thing come this far?"

"Hard to say, Joe," Roy replied. "The marshal had a lot to tell me, but there's gaps in his information, and how she made her way onto the Ponderosa is one of them." Roy lifted his coffee to his lips and sipped, his eyes drawn to the dining room. "Should we wait for Adam?"

Ben stabbed at his eggs. "I don't think there's a force this side of the Mississippi that could get Adam to leave that child alone. Please, Roy, tell us what you know."

The details Roy had received from Marshal Drake told a story that begged for a happier ending.

"Well, Ben, it seems that a few years back, Oliver, Jessamine, and Betsy Ann Reid settled on a promising parcel of land several miles west of Carson City. Just one year ago, Oliver died tragically." Roy sipped his coffee and shook his head. "Poor man fell from their barn roof while making repairs. Over the next few months, the marshal and several townspeople visited the widow, offering help and such. Even managed to build the widow a new barn. But according to the marshal, the widow didn't take kindly to some things she heard the town folk sayin'. Ben, they told her that a young widow should consider her child when takin' on the responsibilities of a ranch without the guidance, as they put it, of a husband. Imagine that. Her husband havin' just passed.

"Marshal Drake also said that several weeks ago, Mrs. Reid and Betsy Ann paid him a visit in Carson City. It seems the child was convinced that a man was lurking around the ranch, but the widow admitted she hadn't seen hide nor hair of any strange man."

"That must have been Crocker."

"Now, Joe, we don't know that for sure. When Mrs. Reid went to town that day, the marshal sent her and Betsy Ann to spend the night at a boarding house owned by a Mrs. Delgado. Then Drake himself went out to the ranch to have a look around, and when he didn't find anything suspicious, he went back to Carson and sent a deputy out there to keep an eye on the Reids for a few days."

Joe shook his head. "A man like Crocker's smart enough to know when the law's around. He wouldn't show his face as long as the deputy was there."

"You may be right about that, Joe." Roy dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. "Betsy Ann told the deputy she hadn't seen the man again, and knowin' the child has a good imagination, Mrs. Reid and the deputy agreed that most likely there never was a man nosin' around the place.

And that was that, until Marshal Drake got my wire yesterday. He went out to the Reid place again. There was no sign of Mrs. Reid, but." Roy's expression darkened, "Ben, the marshal found a body. Mrs. Delgado, the woman who ran the boarding house in Carson City. Drake found her, murdered on the kitchen floor, strangled with her apron strings."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Morning aromas drifted beneath the door, but they did nothing to tempt Adam's appetite. He'd spent countless hours in the uncomfortable bedside chair. Although slumber, with the help of a small dose of laudanum, had welcomed Betsy Ann, it had evaded Adam most of the night.

The clock chimed nine times, and moments later, Betsy Ann stirred. Adam jerked upright, rubbing at the aching muscles in his neck.

"Mama?"

His heart reached out, but he thought better of letting comforting hands follow suit. His sudden appearance in her camp the day before had frightened her, and he'd make no moves to do so again.

"Mama?" Weary eyes opened slowly.

Adam leaned forward, his hands resting squarely at his sides. "You're safe, Betsy Ann. No one's going to hurt you."

His voice triggered panic in the dimly lit room, and Betsy Ann scrambled to her knees. Flattening herself between the headboard and the quilt clutched in her fists, she glared at the stranger in the chair. Defiance swirled with the fear in her eyes, and she drew her knees closer to her chest.

"It's all right. You don't have to be afraid."

Her eyes grew bigger, and Adam offered more distance, relaxing slowly back against his chair. His gesture worked, and her eyes darted from his to the tray on the table and back.

"I'll bet you're thirsty. Would you like a glass of water? Or, maybe some milk?"

Her lips parted, and her tongue peeked in between.

"If you're hungry, I'll see to some nice, warm broth."

She pulled the quilt beneath her chin and shuddered when she caught sight of the bandage around her left wrist.

"You weren't feeling well when I found you out in . . . your camp. I brought you here to my home, and later, a friend, a doctor, came to take care of your cuts and bruises."

"He gave me b-banages?"

Adam smiled. "Yes, he did. Do you remember seeing him?"

She shook her head fiercely.

"That's all right. You were tuckered out last night."

The blanket still clutched in her hands, she looked around the room, and then back to Adam. "I sleeped here all night?"

"Yes."

Her eyes traveled to the bedroom door, and Adam imagined the fear the outer rooms presented her. "I slept right here in this chair last night. I wanted to be close by, in case you needed anything."

Betsy Ann rubbed the edge of the quilt between two fingers. "You wanted to help me?"

"Yes. And I still do."

She worked the quilt furiously against her palm, and she rocked slightly from side to side.

"Betsy Ann, sweetheart, what is it?"

"Will you help my mama?"

"Your mama needs help?"

She nodded. "That bad man . . ." Her throat seized with a solitary sob.

The hair on Adam's neck bristled. "What about him, sweetheart?"

"He's gonna hurt Mama."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The single, half-hour chime went unnoticed, masked by discussion of how to go about locating Jessamine Reid. Once again, Hop Sing set a tray atop Ben's desk and nodded politely before pouring Sheriff Coffee his fourth cup.

With the help of one of Ben's maps, the sheriff identified the Reid property, and the conversation soon led to how a young girl might have managed the distance.

"I guess we have to consider every possibility."

"Well, we know it ain't possible she walked, Pa. You saw that little gal. She ain't but five or six."

Joe folded his arms across his chest. "Hoss is right. Besides bears and pumas, there's coyotes and even some hawks that could've carried her off. Not to mention a little thing like her gettin' over the mountains and across the streams."

Ben nodded. "Paul found bruises and cuts on her arms and legs, but nothing to suggest she'd scaled the terrain between Carson City and the Ponderosa." Settling back in his chair, Ben rubbed his chin. "I think we're going to have to wait until we hear from Betsy Ann, herself."

"Pa."

Ben was on his feet as all eyes turned to the voice in the dining room.

"Would you and Roy come here, please?"

Joe and Hoss silently questioned the summons.

"Betsy Ann's awake, and she's asking for some broth and a tall glass of cold milk. Hoss, Joe, could you get those for her?"

Anxious to help, Hoss spoke for them both. "Sure thing."

Adam nodded as his brothers left for the kitchen. He gestured to the guestroom door, but Ben held him fast and leaned into his ear.

"Adam, there's been a murder at the Reid ranch."

"It's not-"

"No, son. It's not her mother. It's the woman left to Betsy Ann's care. Adam, the girl, did she see-"

"No, Pa, I don't think so. She's only been awake a few minutes, and her only thoughts have been for her mother. She says the bad man is going to hurt her."

Roy stepped closer to Adam and Ben. "A lost child is one thing. Now we have a murdered woman and a missing mother. Do you think that little one's up to answerin' some questions?"

Adam sighed softly. "She's still weak and tired."

Ben heard the familiar, protective tone in Adam's voice. He'd heard it often when Adam defended his brothers. "Son, if Betsy Ann's mother is in trouble, every moment counts."

Adam's jaw tightened, and he nodded.

"Betsy Ann, sweetheart," he said as he entered the guest room, "these are the men I was telling you about."

Introductions were exchanged, and Adam sat on the bed next to Betsy Ann. With her knees still drawn to her chin and her face tucked along her thighs, she peered at the strangers.

"Can you tell Mr. Cartwright and Sheriff Roy what you told me?"

Betsy Ann nodded, popping her chin atop her knees.

Adam smiled.

She slid her feet down the mattress, adjusted the quilt along her lap and, for the first time since they'd entered the room, looked directly at Ben and Roy.

"I'm not s'pposed to tell you anything. The bad man said so. He said he'll hurt my mama if I do. But Adam's nice. Not pretend nice, real nice. And Adam says I should tell." She turned to Adam and whispered, "I don't like the bad man, and I don't like to talk about him."

"I know, sweetheart, but Sheriff Roy can't find him unless you tell us what you know."

"Can Sheriff Roy make him not hurt Mama?"

Searching his father's face for guidance, Adam settled in closer to Betsy Ann. "We'll do everything we can to stop the bad man, sweetheart. But we don't know who he is or where he lives." He smiled down at her innocent eyes. "Can you help us find him?"

Betsy Ann nodded. "He comes to find me after lunch." She tugged on the quilt. "I think it's 'cause he knows Mama's busy with her chores and she won't see him."

Roy cleared his throat. "You mean he's been at your ranch more than once?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your mother doesn't know about the man?"

"No, sir. He hides in the old barn." Betsy Ann's eyes dimmed. "Mama doesn't go in the old barn, not since Papa went to be with the angels.

"Mama's still very sad, but I like to go in the old barn. Papa's things are in there, and I like to see them sometimes. It makes me happy to see Papa's things." She scooted closer to Adam. "'cep when the bad man comes in there."

Adam slipped his arm behind her. "Can you tell us what the bad man says when he's in the barn?"

She nodded. "He asks me where it is, and I don't know." She turned pleading eyes upward. "Honest, Adam, I just don't know."

"It's all right, sweetheart. We believe you-"

"But the bad man doesn't! The first time, he told me to get his money and bring it to the barn. I told him I didn't have any money 'cept for the penny Papa gave me, and he grabbed me and told me to stop lying. Then, he whispered, real quiet. He said he'd come back, and I better have the money, and if I told anyone, he'd hurt Mama."

Adam's jaw tensed.

"I didn't tell, Adam, honest. And he came back. I saw him, and I went to the barn. I was scared, Adam, but I didn't want him to hurt Mama. I told him I didn't have his money and he grabbed me and hit me and . . ." She buried her face against Adam's chest.

"It's all right, Betsy Ann."

She looked up at Adam. "I don't fib, Adam, honest. Mama and Papa said it's wrong to lie."

Adam pulled her closer. "They're right, sweetheart. Now, can you tell us what happened next?"

"Uh huh. The bad man told me I had one more chance to bring his money to the barn the next day or else, and he said if I told anyone, he'd make my mama go away just like my Papa did."

Ben stole a questioning glance at Roy.

"So, I didn't tell anybody, and the next day, I didn't go out to the barn. I was too I scared, Adam. But then, my mama sent me out to the yard to feed the chickens. They live in the coop next to the new barn. Papa said I should always help Mama with her chores. So, I thought I could feed the chickens real fast, and then run back into the house. But the bad man grabbed me and said I had to tell him where his money is or he'll hurt Mama!"

Adam looked from his father to the sheriff. He stroked Betsy Ann's head, then pulled away just enough to see her face. "Sweetheart, do you think your mama knows about the money the bad man keeps asking for?"

"I told you, Adam. I don't know. I just don't." Sobbing, she threw herself against the mattress. "Papa always said money's hard to come by, and Mama says we don't need more than we need. I don't know anything else about any money! Please, I don't want the bad man to hurt Mama. Please, don't let him hurt Mama!"


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Calming Betsy Ann had proven to be quite the task. Through frequent tears and sob-laden gasps, she'd explained that shortly after the man's most recent threats, her mother, still unaware, had left for San Francisco. The details of the trip were a mystery to Betsy Ann, who'd been left in the care of both Mrs. Delgado and her husband.

That new bit of information troubled Ben and Roy. As if the discovery of Mrs. Delgado's body in the Reid kitchen wasn't enough, had a similar fate befallen her husband?

When asked why she'd run away, Betsy Ann replied that the bad man said he'd seen her mother leave, and since Betsy Ann wouldn't turn over his money, he'd follow her mother and make sure of two things – that he got his money, and that Betsy Ann would never see her mother again. It seemed to Betsy Ann that going to get the sheriff was they only way to stop the bad man.

After assurances the law in Carson City and San Francisco was searching for her mother, Adam finally convinced Betsy Ann to leave the bedroom and sit at the dining table. She kept a close watch on Roy and Ben. The men Adam trusted had yet to earn the same from her.

Despite his imposing size, Betsy Ann warmed up to Hoss, claiming, as he served her a second bowl of broth, that he had "friendly blue eyes, just like Papa's." Joe, as well, made their guest feel at ease, and she questioned Adam when he introduced them as brothers, pointing out how small Joe was compared to Adam and Hoss. Everyone laughed, except Joe.

Food, and Adam's close proximity, served to relax Betsy Ann. She chatted more freely, and it wasn't long before she mentioned Mrs. Delgado and how she'd managed to sneak away from home.

"Mama had to go away 'cause some of Papa's things weren't ordered."

Ben was quick to clear up the confusion. "Your papa's things weren't **in order**. What kind of things?"

Betsy reached for her milk and drained the glass with a slurp. "I don't know. But Mama said she needed a turny to finger it out."

Ben, his eyes dancing, folded his hands on the table and addressed Betsy Ann. "Did your mama say she needed an **attorney** to **figure** it out?"

"Yes, sir. That's what she said."

Roy smothered his passing smile. "Betsy Ann, do you know where your mama went?"

"Yes, sir." Her legs kicked and twisted beneath the dining table. "She went to San Francisco. Mr. and Mrs. Delgado came to our house to stay with me."

Remorse shrouded Betsy Ann's face as she continued the story.

"Mrs. Delgado is a nice lady. She makes me lemon cookies and reads extra stories at bedtime." Betsy hung her head and drew her knees between the table and her chest. "Mama said to mind Mr. and Mrs. Delgado. I tried, but when Mrs. Delgado told me to get some water and give it to the calf, I had to go out to the old barn. I didn't want to go, but I'm 'possed to listen to my elders, so I went. The bad man was in the barn and he said he was gonna get his money or else. He scared me, real bad. He hit me, and I tried not to cry. I should be a big girl. That's what Papa always said."

Ben slid his plate forward, folded his hands, and spoke quietly to Betsy Ann. "Can you tell us what happened in the barn?"

She nodded timidly. "The man asked me again where his money was. I said I still didn't know about any money. Then he . . . he . . ."

"It's all right, sweetheart."

"He said he knew my mama was gone, and he knew where she went. He laughed real hard and it scared me. I didn't know what to do, and I tried to run out of the barn. He grabbed my arm, and he hit me in the eye. It hurt really bad. He squished his hand over my mouth so I'd stop crying." She rocked gently in her chair.

Adam's stomach knotted. He pushed back from the table, anxious to scoop her into his arms, but she suddenly raised her head in defiance.

"I couldn't breathe very much. That man, he shouldn't oughtta do that, right?"

"No, honey, he shouldn't." With a tender touch, Adam brushed her hair from her face. "Can you tell us what happened next?"

Her nod was barely visible. "The bad man told me he was tired of waiting for his money. He said he was gonna go after Mama and make her talk and if she didn't, he said he'd make her go away." She reached for Adam's hand and held on tight. "I'm a good girl, Adam." Tears welled in her eye. "I don't tell fibs. I don't!"

Adam scooped her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. "But you did tell a fib that day."

"Yes, sir, I did. I told the bad man his money was in Mama's bedroom, and then he stomped around the barn and he was laughin' real quiet. Then he tasked me if . . . He said a bad word, Adam, but I knew he meant Mr. Delgado. He asked if Mr. Delgado was spendin' the night. I told him yes."

"What happened then, sweetheart?"

"He was mad. He grabbed my arms, really hard, Adam. And he said I better not be lying, 'cause he wanted his money, and if he didn't find it in Mama's room, he was gonna, he was –"

Adam pulled her closer. "It's all right, Betsy Ann. He can't hurt you here."

She pushed against his chest, frantic to finish the story. "I got scared and I ran back to the house. Mrs. Delgado was in the kitchen cookin' supper, and I went to my room and climbed out the window, and then I ran, Adam. I ran and ran and I followed the road to Carson City. I was gonna find the marshal and tell him about the bad man. But then I heard a wagon behind me, and I was tired from running, so I hid in the trees, and the man in the wagon stopped up the trail 'cause the wheel was rickety, and-"

"Slow down, sweetheart. Just take it slow and easy."

She nodded and took a deep breath. "While the wagon man was fixin' the wheel, I got closer and closer. He finished, and then he went into the trees on the other side of the trail." Her eyes skirted the room, glancing at each anxious listener. She leaned forward and whispered to Adam. "I think he needed to . . . you know."

"Oh, I see."

"And while he was gone, I climbed in his wagon and hid under some blankets. I heard him coming back and I got real quiet. The wagon started to move, and I guess I fell asleep, 'cause when the wagon stopped again, I peeked out. I didn't know where I was, but it sure wasn't Carson City. There was a river and a lot of trees and I listened real good, and it was quiet, so I peeked out again, and the man wasn't there. I got out of the wagon, and it was cold. I grabbed one of the man's blankets and I ran some more. After while, I found an old bottle, but it was empty, and I was real thirsty. So I took the bottle and dipped it in the water, just like Papa taught me. It was cold and I drank a bunch. Then, I started running some more, only I was lost, Adam, and then I made a tent like Papa showed me, and I cried 'cause I was lost and hungry, and-"

"And then, I found you."

"Yes, sir. I thought you were the bad man, then I thought maybe you were another bad man, then I woke up in this place, and-"

"Betsy Ann, when Adam found you, you had a gun. Where did you get it?"

Sheriff Roy's question frightened her. So many times, her father had said never to touch his guns.

With a twitch of her cheek, Betsy Ann replied, "I'm not allowed to touch Papa's guns."

Adam stole a telling glance at Roy. "Where did you get the gun?"

Betsy Ann sucked on her bottom lip. A moment later, she bowed her head and spoke softly. "I didn't touch Papa's guns, honest."

"You need to tell us, sweetheart."

She sighed. "When I crawled into the man's wagon, something poked my back. I didn't want the man to see me, so I reached behind me and grabbed the poky thing." She lifted her eyes to Adam's. "It was the wagon man's gun. It was wrapped up in some papers. I had to take it, Adam. The bad man was coming, I just knew he was, and I-"

"It's all right. You're safe now."

"I didn't know the bad man's picture was on one of them papers, and when I saw it, it made me run faster. I was a bad girl. I don't know where Mama is, and Mr. and Mrs. Delgado are at my house, and I don't know where the bad man is and I told a fib, Adam, and Papa said I should never lie! I didn't mean to be a bad girl!"

She buried her face against Adam's chest, and he rocked her gently as she held on tight.

Roy tipped his head and Ben followed him to the front door.

"Ben, I'll get this information to Marshal Drake, and we'll do what we can to find her mother. That poor child."

Ben opened the front door and the two stepped outside.

"She doesn't know about the murder, and I think we should keep it from her, at least for now."

"I agree, Ben."

"Paul is coming to check on her later today. He may have some insight on how and when to tell her, and I'm sure her mother should be here when we do."

Roy nodded his agreement, but hesitated as he started away. "Ben, Crocker's already killed one woman, and possibly, her husband, as well. He didn't find what he was looking for at the Reid place. Betsy Ann running away most likely saved her life. Let's just pray Crocker hasn't found Jessamine Reid."


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Jessamine had chosen to stay at the same hotel she and Oliver had frequented on their visits to San Francisco, and on her final morning in the big city, she found herself walking along Washington Street. The din of the bustling crowd weighed heavily on her heart. The city had grown, the storefronts had changed, yet memories of her late husband were woven amid the multitudes. Suddenly, Jessamine felt very small.

Passing the quaint gazebo in the center of Alistair Park, she shivered. Had it really been seven years since she and Oliver had picnicked there? Seven years since the glorious news that they were about to become parents?

Faint at first, fragrant lavender saturated the air, and without so much as a thought, Jessamine found herself seated at the edge of a park bench.

**_Oliver, my love, I miss you so._**

She couldn't help but notice a towering maple, and she smiled.

**_The tree that shaded our picnic seven, short years ago._****_You promised me on that day that dreams, tempered with hard work and patience, would provide everything we could possibly need. Oh, Oliver._**

Reaching inside the reticule he'd presented her on her last birthday, Jessamine lifted her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

**_The lawyer said you'd been transferring money, a little here, a little there. You've provided well for us, Oliver, your Betsy Girl and me. So many days you came to our bed with cuts and bruises and aching muscles. You worked hard to build our ranch. And now . . . now you're gone, and I feel empty inside._**

Jessamine wound the handkerchief in her fingers and discreetly patted her face.

**_Betsy Ann misses you terribly. She spends hours in the barn. Sometimes she's withdrawn, distant._** Tears threatened to spill yet again, and she blinked them at bay with determination. **_I miss your smile and your laughter, Oliver. It's nearly a year, now._** A lone tear burst free and trickled down her cheek. **_Even a day is too long._**

Memories flooded her soul, and she gasped at their overwhelming power. **_If only you hadn't been on the roof that day._** Sitting motionless, she willed her mind to settle into nothingness. Above her, the leaves fluttered, and the early morning sunrays twinkled against her cheeks. She inhaled deeply, straightening her back as her eyes closed. **_You can do this, Jessamine. Betsy Ann needs you. She needs to see her papa's dream continue to grow. She needs to remember him with pride and love. She needs-_**

"Oh, my, I'll miss my stage!" Jessamine hurried from the park, glancing red-faced for anyone who may have overheard her exclamation. Making her way the two blocks to her hotel, she ran a mental list of how she'd finish packing and proceed to the stage depot. Her biggest concern was that the hotel desk had remembered to order her a hansom cab.

As she approached the Palace's heavily adorned entry, she smoothed her skirts, tucked strays curls into her bonnet, and entered the lobby. Nodding to the doorman as she passed by, she searched deep inside her bag, relieved when her fingertips found the buried room key. Her dress swished along the floor as she rushed toward the hallway, and the sound of her name being hailed across the open room startled her.

"Mrs. Reid? Oh, Mrs. Reid."

"What is it? I'm afraid I'm running late and may miss . . ." She turned, facing the clerk and the sheriff standing to his left. "Mr. Ashbury? What's the meaning-"

"Are you Jessamine Reid?"

Her eyes widened as the lawman came toward her. "Yes, yes I am. What's the . . . Betsy Ann? Sheriff, has something happened to my little girl?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The jostling of the stage went unnoticed, paled by the tempest in her thoughts. The sheriff had been kind, taking her into the hotel's anteroom and assuring her that Betsy Ann was safe before delivering the news of Mrs. Delgado's murder. Jessamine had listened, dumbfounded, to the events of the past four days.

A stranger had terrorized her daughter, and Jessamine had known nothing of it. He'd set foot on their property, in their barn, and just yesterday, in their kitchen. She shivered; the images invading her mind were more than she could bear. **_Thank God Betsy Ann wasn't there when . . . Betsy Ann. Why didn't she tell me? Could it be true she stole passage to Virginia City in the back of a wagon? The sheriff wouldn't lie, but how? And just who are these Cartwrights? _**

The trail sent the stage pitching at a constant rate, but the tossing and lurching faded into nothing; her thoughts battled between agonizing over her daughter's safety and mourning her dear friend. Sleep eluded Jessamine.

She'd taken the sheriff for his word when he'd said the Cartwrights were to be trusted. Despite his assurances, Jessamine's stomach churned. **_Betsy Ann's always been friendly toward strangers, but she must be frightened. Have they told her about Mrs. Delgado? And what of Mr. Delgado?_** Tears welled in her eyes yet again. **_No. If these Cartwrights are all the sheriff says they are, they won't tell her. But, I'll have to. How?_**

She dwelled on her thoughts, staring out the window at the passing landscape. Suddenly, she shuddered. **_That man. Who is he, and why does he believe we have his money? Oh, Betsy Ann! He could have hurt you, killed you! Why didn't you tell me?_**

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The stage driver grinned as he drove the team onto the main street in Carson City. With minimal freight and only one passenger, he managed to bring the coach to a halt a full seven minutes ahead of schedule. Turning to leap from the driver's box, his smile faded - only once before had Marshal Drake met the San Francisco stage. What business could he have with the lovely passenger?

Before the driver's feet hit the dirt, Jessamine flung the coach door open and nearly tumbled into the street.

"Whoa now, careful there." Marshal Drake steadied her, grasping one arm as she recovered her bearings.

"I'm sorry, I-You must be Marshal Drake."

"Yes, ma'am. Marshal Douglas Drake. And you must be Mrs. Reid."

Jessamine nodded abruptly. "I was told you'd be expecting me. Please, Marshal, can we start for Virginia City immediately? I need to get to my little girl."

"Of course, Mrs. Reid. The buggy's right over there."

As her small portmanteau was transferred to the rig, Drake steadied Jessamine, yet again, as she raised herself into the seat. "I hope you can tell me more about Betsy Ann, Marshal."

As he climbed next to Jessamine, Drake found himself taken by the fear in her eyes. "I'll tell you everything I know, ma'am. Let's start with the fact that I've been in touch with Virginia City's sheriff, and your daughter is safe and well." With a flick of his wrists, the buggy lurched forward.

Jessamine wrung her hands, clutching her handkerchief as she folded it over and over. "Thank you, Marshal. Now, please, start from the beginning. Who is this monster, and why is he after my daughter?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Exhausted, Jessamine leaned forward in the buggy. They'd just reached Ponderosa land, and Marshal Drake assured her they'd be at the house in two hours, give or take. Hours of travel had left her weighed down by more questions than answers, and now, a reunion with her precious daughter wasn't far away.

"Marshall, Betsy Ann and I can't go home. Not yet. Will we be safe in Virginia City?"

"Virginia City?"

"Why, yes. We'll need to find a hotel in Virginia City, and-"

"No, ma'am."

The marshal's abruptness startled Jessamine.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't mean to frighten you, but you must realize until Crocker is captured, you and your daughter must remain diligent. I'm sure the Cartwrights will-"

The crack was piercing. Jessamine screamed and cupped her hand over her right ear. **_Warm, wet._** Panic shook her. She drew her trembling hand away. **_Blood! _**She whimpered. **_No pain._** "Marshal, what-"

She sensed heaviness against her arm, but it wasn't until the marshal slumped forward that she realized he'd been shot.

"Oh, no!" Awkwardly, Jessamine worked to right the unconscious man.

"Whoa!" she shouted, grabbing again and again at the dangling reins.

A faint moan caught her attention, and she turned to right the marshal's head.  
>"Marshal Drake, can you hear me?"<p>

His head turned slowly, and Jessamine braced his limp body with her shoulder. Looking into his ashen face, she shouted, "I've got to stop the horse! I've got to-"

Jessamine jerked against the back of the seat. She hadn't seen the man ride up to the careening buggy. He'd managed to grab hold of the horse's harness, and after four sharp attempts, the mare stopped charging.

"Oh, thank you. Please, you've got to help us. The marshal's been-"

"Shot. I know. I shot him."


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"They should have been here by now."

Ben peeked overtop his copy of the Territorial Enterprise and studied his son. He'd listened patiently for nearly ten minutes as Adam paced the room, anxious for the arrival of Jessamine Reid and Marshal Drake.

"Adam, even if the stage arrived on time in Carson, the trip by buggy won't get them here for at least another twenty minutes or so."

Adam's eyes snapped to the grandfather clock. He huffed, shook his head, and continued to pace.

Ben shifted in his chair and went back to his paper. At least, he tried to.

"Maybe we should hire more men. There's more than enough ways to sneak up to this house." Adam headed for the credenza and the gun belt sitting on top. "How can we be sure Crocker won't slip by the hands we've posted?"

Ben crinkled the paper against his lap. "Put the gun down. We don't want to frighten Betsy Ann any more than she already is."

"But Pa, we have to-"

"Son, there are four men keeping watch on the house and another four on the look-out along the road. Joe and Hoss are out on the porch, you and I are in here, and as for Hop Sing, well, he may be baking cookies with Betsy Ann, but you and I both know he'll protect her with his life it the need arises."

"I'm sorry, Pa. It's just . . . I'm just . . ." Adam swung his arm to shoulder height and pointed across the way. "The little girl in that kitchen needs her mother."

Ben nodded.

"How could she do it, Pa?"

"Adam, we already know she hopped into-"

"I'm not talking about Betsy Ann. I'm talking about her mother. How could she go off and leave her daughter?"

Ben waved a quieting hand at his excited son. "She didn't leave her, Adam."

"You know what I mean."

"No, son, I'm afraid I don't."

Adam's patience wore thin. "If she cared about her daughter, really cared, put Betsy Ann first-"

"Ah, now I see."

"Then you **do** understand."

Ben pointed to the settee, and Adam accepted his father's suggestion.

"Adam," Ben said solemnly, "Jessamine Reid is not Laura. And Betsy Ann isn't Peggy."

"That's not what I . . . I only meant that . . ."

"You only meant that you feel you know what's best for a little girl grieving the loss of her father?"

Frustration flared in Adam's eyes and he was quick to his feet. "She should have believed Betsy Ann when she said there was a man lurking about." He paced between the settee and the table, arguing with the present, the past, and himself. "She should have . . . I don't know . . . taken Betsy Ann with her to San Francisco. She should have-"

"Adam."

"None of this would have happened if she'd taken more time to listen to what her child needed, and just like with Laura and Peggy, the child suffers."

Ben's silence at a time like this was all too familiar to Adam.

"I know, Pa, Mrs. Reid isn't Laura and Betsy Ann isn't Peggy and Oliver Reid fell to his death and Will . . ."

In that moment, months of sadness clouded Adam's face and Ben's heart ached for his son.

"Cousin Will and his new family aren't the Reids."

"That's right, son."

"I'm getting too involved. Is that what you're saying?"

Ben scooted forward on his chair. "Too involved? No. I've taught you to help people in need, to sacrifice for others, to . . . care. You were a part of everything that transpired between you and Laura and Peggy . . . and Will. But you can't put yourself in the place of a woman you've never even met. From what Roy's been able to gather, Jessamine Reid is a wonderful mother, and she and Oliver were a loving couple. They aren't Laura and Frank, or Laura and Will, and Betsy Ann isn't Peggy."

Adam sat, sighing as he nodded. "You're right, Pa. I've been missing Peggy, and that little girl in the kitchen needed me and . . . Pa, she needs to know Jubal Crocker can't lay a hand on her ever again."

Ben twisted to face his son. "Adam, we've done everything possible with what little we know. All we can do now is keep watch over the house, keep Betsy Ann distracted and wait for Marshal Drake and Mrs. Reid to arrive."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

From the moment she heard the slamming of a door, Jessamine's focus was to escape. Hours before, she'd looked into the eyes of one of her captors as he calmly stated he'd been the one to shoot Marshal Drake.

She'd been dragged from the buggy, her pleas for the bleeding lawman ignored, and then forced into the back of what appeared to be a small, peddler's wagon. Her wrists were bound with a length of cloth. The marshal's treatment had been far worse, his slumped body hauled from the buggy with no thought to his condition.

With grunts and verbal complaints, two of the kidnappers shoved Drake into the wagon. Jessamine recoiled at the larger kidnapper's touch, backing herself against a pile of stained, tattered muslin in the wagon's front corner. The rear gate latching into place had relaxed her a bit, but her attempt to scoot her way to the marshal's side ended when rough hands reached over the rail, jerked him upright, and shoved a gag between his teeth. Another pair of hands brutally yanked the unconscious marshal's hands behind his back and tied his wrists with a filthy scrap of cloth.

She'd fought to stay alert, searching Drake's face for signs of his waking. The men had neglected to gag her, and she thanked the Lord for small favors. Digging her heels into the weathered wagon bed, she inched her way toward Marshal Drake.

"Douglas?" she whispered, the name lost amid the drone of the wagon's wheels. "I need to stop the bleeding." Scooting back to the corner, Jessamine twisted against the binding rope, her fingertips grasping at the pile of cloth. Dragging the fabric behind her, she wriggled alongside the marshal, turned to her side, and dropped the cloth from her fingers.

Her eyes darted from his wound to the cloth. How could she tend him with her hands tied securely behind her back?

Lost in thought, Jessamine jerked suddenly when a groan escaped the marshal's parched lips. Inching closer, she lay face to face with Douglas Drake.

"Douglas, can you hear me?"

Jessamine glanced at the front flap of the wagon, worried that her voice may have signaled the men. When the wagon's lull continued, she tried again to rouse the marshal. This time, her plea was answered.

"Did they hurt you?" His muffed voice seemed gravely as he spoke through the gag.

"What? Me? I mean, no. But you, you've been shot."

Douglas chortled at her obvious statement, but the smile that revealed a dimple quickly turned to a grimace.

"It only hurts . . . when I laugh," he said.

Jessamine smiled with a sigh. "If you can turn, just a little, I think I can use this cloth and my shoulder to press against your wound."

After several efforts, Douglas managed to turn. He'd clenched his eyes against the pain and was startled, when they opened, to see a dirty cloth held fast between her teeth.

She pulled and pushed, moving her body upward until she was able to drop the cloth against his bleeding shoulder. Then, after scooting a bit further, she pressed her shoulder against the cloth.

Douglas moaned.

"I'm sorry."

"It's . . . all right. You can't stay like that. It must be difficult, uncomfortable, at best."

And it was. But Jessamine was determined. The marshal was her best hope of escaping the kidnappers, and escape meant getting to Betsy Ann.

The hours that passed had seemed endless. Jessamine did her best to help Douglas' wound to clot, and the effort took its toll. Her back ached and her left arm went numb, but when the wagon had slowed and she rolled to her back, the cloth remained, fixed to the wound like a proper dressing.

When the constant bump and wobble stopped, she and Douglas were pulled from the wagon, and Jessamine nearly crumbled at the sight before her. **_Home._** She and Douglas had been taken back to Carson City, and now, the kidnappers filed them across the yard and toward her kitchen door.

Jessamine's stomach roiled. **_Mrs. Delgado._**

Douglas noted her hesitation and softly spoke her name. His words were cut short by a blow to his back.

"Shut up, Marshal!" the larger man barked. "Keep moving!"

Crocker led the way up the porch stairs. He flung the door open and stepped inside, puffing his chest for the reaction he expected to witness. What he saw did nothing to his bravado. "What a shame. It appears someone has tidied up." He held his hand over his heart. "I fancy myself a bit of an artist, Mrs. Reid, and I so wanted to share my latest . . . work with you." Crocker paused, and he grinned watching the horror creep over Jessamine's face.

"You murdered her here, didn't you? Mrs. Delgado. My friend."

"Murder is such a nasty word."

Jessamine lunged toward him. "Murderer!"

Crocker's men struggled to restrain the marshal.

"Now, now, Jessie," Crocker whispered, holding her shoulders in his grasp. "May I call you "Jessie? Jessamine is such an . . . uppity name."

She spit in his face. "Don't call me anything! Let us go and get out of my house!"

"That is not going to happen, Jessie. You see, I've always been able to read people, and that brat child of yours has been lying to me. Oh, I tried. At first, I was nice to the kid, talked real sweet to her. But she wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know, so I told her I'd give her one more chance, and if she didn't come through, I'd see to it that her mama and papa had themselves a real nice reunion!" Crocker shoved Jessamine across the room.

Fighting to stay upright, Jessamine landed against Douglas, and the larger of Crocker's men grabbed her at the waist.

"And then," Crocker continued, pacing a circle in the center of the kitchen, "that Delgado bitch stood right here . . . or was it there . . . and told me the money was in your bedroom." He faced Jessamine and Douglas. "Another lie!"

Crocker's swagger changed suddenly. "If only that impotent husband of hers hadn't caught sight of us when we rode in." He reached for Jessamine's dress, gathering the bodice fabric in his fist. "Watching me slit his throat might have been incentive for the truth!"

Jessamine shivered at Crocker's threat.

And now, she and Douglas were no closer to escape. She cocked her head, listening for the rhythmic sighs of his breathing.

From the kitchen, they'd been dragged into the Reid's dining room, forced to the floor, and tied to opposite legs of the heavy, pine table.

They'd listened as the kidnappers destroyed furniture, upholstered chairs, knickknacks, and cabinets.

Crocker's search for his money was destroying the Reid home, and still, Jessamine had no idea why this maniac thought his money lay hidden on her property. More perplexing still was the question, why did he think Betsy Ann knew?

Jessamine feared Douglas had slipped into unconsciousness. She'd dared to call out to him twice, and both times, one of Crocker's three men had struck her, leaving her lower lip bloodied and her cheek swelling.

As the banging and ripping faded, she'd listened carefully to the kidnappers' conversation. She heard the front door slam, and for endless minutes, waited to be sure they were alone.

"Douglas," she whispered, "can you hear me?"

His gag-muffled reply filled her with hope.

"They've ransacked my home, and I heard them say they're going to search the barns. I've been trying to free my hands, but . . . I just can't seem to . . . Wait! I almost . . . my wrist is slipping . . . I did it!"

On trembling legs, she stood, clutching the table's edge for support. Blood trickled from her wrists, and she rubbed them gently, restoring the feeling to her fingertips. "Douglas," she whispered as she scrambled to him. "Here, let me . . ." She stood again. "No, there's a knife in the kit . . ." Her face paled, and she breathed deeply. "I'll be right back."

Moments later, tears falling freely, her hands shaking, Jessamine cut the ropes binding the marshal's hands. "We've got to get you bandaged."

"There isn't time. They could be back any minute." Douglas pulled himself upright, leaning heavily against the table. "We've got to get away and seek help. Is there a ranch nearby?"

"Nothing from here to Carson to the east." Jessamine wrung her hands, her thinking scattered. "Um, the river, a line shack, the Pierson ranch! To the west. It's a long way, but it's the only one I know of that's still a working ranch."

Douglas forced himself away from the security of the table and took Jessamine's hand. "Let's go."

"Where? How? You're hurt and-"

"In the buggy, just after we left Carson City, didn't you say you have a corral? A corral a ways from the house? By the Truckee?"

"Yes, I did, but-"

"Are there horses there?"

"Yes, but . . . Yes!"


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Steaming hotcakes, warm syrup, crispy bacon, and fluffy scrambled eggs awaited the Cartwright men and their anxious young guest.

Donning the pink-checkered dress delivered from town the night before, Betsy Ann and Adam walked out from her bedroom.

"My, my, don't you look pretty."

"Thank you, Mr. Ben. And thank you for this dress, too. I'm glad I don't have to wear Joe's old nightshirt anymore."

When she and Adam approached the table, hunger lingered second on Betsy Ann's mind. Her first thoughts were of her mother.

"Did Sheriff Roy find my mama?"

In the room, eyes locked, confirming the decision to hold back information.

Adam cupped the back of Betsy Ann's head, smoothing her sleep-ruffled strands as he spoke. "Joe left early this morning, sweetheart. He's gone into town to talk to Sheriff Roy."

Adam pulled out her chair and she climbed onto the seat.

"There you go," he said, scooting the chair forward as she smoothed out her dress. "Now, how about some of Hop Sing's famous breakfast?"

"It's famous?" Betsy Ann wrinkled her nose. "I never heard of it."

Hoss took his seat across the table. "Well, darlin', that's 'cause you ain't never tried Hop Sing's famous breakfast! He don't make hotcakes ev'ry mornin'. Just when there's a special little gal at the table."

"Me?"

"Yessum," Hoss said with a blue-eyed wink. "You're a special little gal."

Ben and Adam slid into their chairs, wondering just how long they could keep Betsy Ann from what was surely on her mind. Sooner or later, they'd have to tell her news of her mother.

Sooner came quickly.

"Adam?" Betsy Ann stared at her plate as Ben added hotcakes and bacon.

"Yes?"

"Adam . . . my mama makes me hotcakes. Sometimes, we have them for supper. She says, 'If they're good enough to get ya through the day, they're good enough to get ya through the night.'"

Slowly, Betsy Ann's arms folded, and she hugged herself tightly, her head bowed, chin touching her chest. "I'm scared, Adam. What if the bad man already hurt my mama just like he said he would?"

Adam reached for her shoulder, squeezing gently. At a loss for the right words, he turned to his father. How could they tell Betsy Ann her mother had been found and she and the marshal were hours overdue?

"We shouldn't think anything bad's happened," Ben said, his voice soft, but firm. "Your mama went to San Francisco, and that's a far piece away."

"Really far?" she asked, innocent eyes pleading.

"Really far. Now," Ben continued, "how about some nice warm syrup for those hotcakes?"

Betsy Ann nodded, reaching tentatively for her fork. "Bet they're not as good as Mama's."

Hoss leaned against the table's edge. "Betsy Ann, you'd better not let ole Hop Sing here you say that. Why, he's liable to walk right out of here and go back to China!"

Betsy Ann's eyes grew wide. "Really?"

Hoss fought off a grin as he nodded.

"I like Hop Sing. I wouldn't want him to go to China."

Adam smiled. "Well, then, let's all eat our fill, and then Hoss and I will take you down to the corral to see the new pony. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes, Adam. And when Mama gets here, I'll tell her all about it."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Seven horses crowded the hitching post at the Virginia City jail. Sheriff Coffee had wasted no time rounding up volunteers, and after wiring the sheriff in Carson City, had returned to the jail, anxious to begin the search for the missing woman and Marshal Drake.

"I want to thank you all for stepping forward." Roy fixed his boot into the stirrup and settled quickly into his saddle. The seven volunteers did the same.

"We'll ride south to the Ponderosa. Joe Cartwright's gone on ahead to fetch Hoss. He's the best tracker among us. The rest of us will wait at the Carson fork. Joe and Hoss will meet us there." Roy turned his mount and raised his arm. "We may need to split up. We've no idea what's happened to the marshal and Mrs. Reid. Could be they simply slipped a buggy wheel, could be something far worse.

You all understand it's likely Jubal Crocker's murdered a woman and her husband in Carson City."

Roy paused until each man nodded. "All right then. Keep your eyes open, men. Let's ride."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I don't understand, Douglas," she whispered. "Why are we stopping?"

Drake clapped a hand over Jessamine's mouth and signaled her silence. He pressed against her, shielding her between him and the side of the house.

With panicked eyes, Jessamine watched over his shoulder as one of Crocker's men, a man called Henry, emerged from the old barn and crossed the yard toward the house's front door.

Henry grumbled as he walked. "If I told Crocker once, I told him a thousand times, them two ain't goin' nowhere. Marty and I tied 'em up good and tight. I swear, if Crocker and Marty find that money and high tail it outta here while I'm in the house babysittin' a bleedin' man and a female, why, it'll be the last thing they ever do!"

Douglas turned to Jessamine. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Jessamine started to protest, but Douglas's warning glare froze her to her spot, and she watched as he slinked back inside, the pain in his shoulder temporarily forgotten. She listened intently above her constant, silent prayers until, moments later, she heard a muted thud, and she gasped at the thought of Douglas lying on the kitchen floor.

Her breathing shallow and heavy, her prayers were answered when Douglas appeared through the opening screen door. He took her by the arm, guiding her from the house to the cover of a small grove of trees.

"Now, let's get to that corral."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"There ain't nothin' here, Jubal. No box, no money, no nothin'!"

Crocker raised his knee and brought his boot down hard, smashing the loft ladder rung to pieces. "Nothing in the house," he shouted as he paced the dirt floor, "nothing in this lousy excuse of a barn." He stopped, lifted his arm and, with one anger-driven swipe, flung useless bottles and rusted nails from the top shelf of a cabinet. "Let's check out the new barn."

"And what if we find nothin' in there?"

Frustration reared, and Crocker spun on his heels. "Then we make her talk! Ain't a female alive who doesn't stick her nose into her husband's business."

"And what if she don't talk?"

Crocker's eyes darkened and the twinkle sent a shiver down Marty's back.

"Then we kill the marshal . . . sooner than we'd planned."

Crocker and Marty marched side by side toward the new barn.

"Jubal," Marty said softly, "did you ever think . . . maybe she don't know where the money is?"

Crocker continued on with heavy steps, ranting loudly, and Marty had to push to keep up.

"Time was nobody owned this blasted land. I buried the money from the last two bank jobs, rode out to meet up with the rest of you, and ended up in prison!"

"If we'd known the hideout was bein' watched, we'd a warned you, Jubal."

Crocker stopped short. He turned, grabbed Marty by his shirt, and lifted the man from his feet. "But ya didn't, did ya, Martin?"

"Jubal, I tried t-"

"You let me ride up without a care in the world. You, Henry, and Yancy."

"We didn't know-"

"And when the law came after me," Crocker shouted, shaking Marty as he lowered him to the ground, "the three of you high-tailed it outta there!"

"We doubled back, Jubal, but-"

Crocker shoved Marty to the ground. "But Yancy got killed and I got caught and you and Henry got away clean!"

Marty spat a mouthful of sand as he pushed himself to his knees.

Crocker shook his finger at the kneeling man. "I'd have gone to the gallows if that bank teller hadn't come to his senses and skipped town."

Marty staggered to his feet, a nervous grin washing onto his face. "Shame that teller's wife took that fall."

A glimmer appeared in Crocker's eyes. "A real shame. She wasn't much to look at, but she fell real nice, till she hit bottom!"

Marty laughed. Years of experience had taught him to applaud Crocker's cold heart. As with all of Crocker's men, it had become the best way to stay alive. "That bank teller wasn't about to testify against you after he saw his little woman at the bottom of that cliff!"

Crocker threw back his head and an eerie sound poured from his soul. The cackling stopped abruptly, and he plodded, once again, toward the Reid's new barn. Caught off guard, Marty hustled to catch up.

"Jubal, what if you kill the marshal and the Reid woman really doesn't know where the money is?"

With a swift movement, Crocker kicked the barn door open. "Then we offer to escort Jessie to her sweet, little daughter."

Marty followed him inside. "You have an idea where the brat's hiding?"

"No, but her mother does."

"Huh?"

Crocker's annoyance sparked yet again. "Martin, in all the time since we stopped the marshal's buggy, have you heard Jessie mention her beloved Betsy Ann?"

"No, but-"

"That's because she isn't worried about the brat! She knows where she is. Now, stop with the questions and start looking for the money!"

Marty did as he was told, pulling up suspicious boards, searching the folds of blankets, and digging through mounds of hay. Crocker emptied three saddlebags, their contents scattering across a long wooden bench, and he pocketed several coins and a rusted jack-knife.

Ten minutes later, Crocker's patience was once again wearing thin.

"Enough!" Crocker drew back and landed his fist against the barn wall.

Unsettled by the sudden outburst, Marty shrank into the shadows.

"I know he did it!" Crocker yelled. "Oliver Reid found the spot where I hid the box. He dug it up, I'm sure of it!"

Blood trickled from Crocker's knuckles, and he wiped them across his shirt. "Henry's been watching this place for months. He said Reid and that kid went everywhere together." He flexed his fingers, staring at the bruised hand as if the answer was written across his fingers. "We find that kid, and we find the money!"


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Jessamine skidded, the slope of the land made treacherous by her haste. Douglas steadied her, grasping her forearm and putting himself between Jessamine and the tree just ahead.

His touch was firm, gentle, and Jessamine's eyes lingered with his. "Thank you." She was grateful she'd been able to utter two simple words.

Douglas released her arm, but his gaze didn't stray. He swallowed with effort. "You're welcome."

Reluctantly, she lowered her eyes, fixing them on the marshal's injury. She touched his shoulder lightly. "That must have hurt." Her fingertips remained.

Douglas shirked her concern. "It's not as bad as it was. I didn't want them to know, in case I got the chance to make a move." He reached up, took her hand in his, and then dropped his arm to his side. "Let's go."

Jessamine pulled her hand from his as she started, once again, down the grade.

Sensing the humans' presence, the horses stirred slightly. Jessamine spoke to them, her familiar voice calming their jitters.

"Easy, now," she said softly, unlatching the corral gate. "Who wants to go for a nice, long ride?" She approached a chestnut Morgan, stroking his flank as she prepared to mount.

"Which one?" Douglas waited for her cue.

Jessamine pointed to her left. "That one, over there. He's used to being ridden hard."

Douglas patted the paint, and seconds later, the pair burst from the corral, riding bareback, heading for the Ponderosa.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As a child, Hoss Cartwright had been taught that lying is wrong. As a young adult, he'd learned to recognize the difference between lying and keeping quiet. And as a grown man, he knew that sometimes, the truth needed to be bent to protect someone.

"Hoss, are you and Adam and Joe going to get my mama?"

Hoss's movements were swift and exact as he donned his gun belt. Habit ruled his fingers, leaving his mind to deal with just such a truth.

"Well, little darlin' . . . ya see . . . me and Adam and Joe, we ain't exactly sure where your mama is right now. She might be in San Francisco, or Carson City, or-"

"Or on her way to the Ponderosa?" Betsy Ann's anticipation shone on her face.

Hoss knelt and cupped her chin in his fingertips. "I reckon she could be, darlin'." He swept a lock of hair from her forehead. "We're gonna do everything we can to find your mama. Now," he stood, smiling down at Betsy Ann, "why don't you skedaddle on into the kitchen and help ole Hop Sing. He's makin' an apple pie for tonight's desert."

"I like apple pie."

Hoss smacked his lips and smiled. "So do I, darlin', so do I." He reached down and patted her behind. "Go on, now, skedaddle."

As she skipped to the kitchen, Hoss sighed, a silent prayer in the vapor. He had a feeling the missing pair had met with more than a busted buggy wheel.

Once Betsy Ann was out of sight, Hoss grabbed his saddlebags and turned his focus to fetching his rifle and ample ammunition from the gun rack across the room. He lifted two boxes of shells and jerked when the front door opened wide.

"The horses are saddled," Joe said. "Adam's filling the canteens."

"You got enough shells?"

"Yeah. We grabbed them before we headed out to the barn. We'd best get going. Roy's waiting." Joe slapped his hat atop his head. "Where's Pa?"

"Pa's right here." Ben glanced around the room as he hurried down the staircase. "Betsy Ann?"

Hoss shoved the boxes into his bag, flung it over his shoulder, and started for the door. "I sent her to the kitchen to help Hop Sing. Pa," he said, hesitating, "she's asking if we're going out to find her mama."

Ben's brow creased. "You didn't tell her?"

"No, sir. I told her we was gonna do what we could to find her mama and bring her here."

Ben followed Hoss and Joe to the door, clapping Hoss on the back. "You did the right thing, Hoss."

"I reckon so."

As Hoss and Joe stepped onto the porch, Ben stood in the doorway. "You boys be careful, you hear."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Little Missy need more flour."

"How much, Hop Sing?"

"Not too much. Just right amount. There. Very good."

"I did it?"

"Yes. Little Missy did it."

"Hop Sing, how many biscuits are we making?"

"Hop Sing and Little Missy make many biscuit. Cartwrights like biscuit. Mister Hoss eat many biscuit."

Betsy Ann giggled. "Hoss eat many everything!"

Hop Sing chuckled. "Little Missy cook like Hop Sing. Now, Little Missy talk like Hop Sing!"

"Well, now, what's going on in here?" Ben puffed his chest, his twinkling eyes belying his bravado.

"We're making biscuits, Mr. Ben."

"I can see that."

While Betsy Ann stirred the dough, Ben and Hop Sing exchanged concerned glances. Neither was sure how long they could keep the child from worrying about her mother.

"I think," Betsy Ann said softly, "I still need a little more flour." With her knees resting on the seat of the chair, she dipped her scoop into the canister. "Is this too much?"

Hop Sing reached for her hand, and in the same moment, Betsy Ann twisted and raised her arm. Ben watched while, as if in slow motion, a scoopful of flour was cast into the air. A mere second later, Ben Cartwright found himself dusted from head to toe with flour.

"Uh oh." Betsy Ann shrank into her chair, and Hop Sing stared wide-eyed at his boss.

A grin formed on Ben's face, and he broke into a contagious belly laugh.

"Mister Cartwright, you never help make biscuit before!"

"Well, now," Ben said as he laughed, "you've never before had such a cute little helper in the kitchen!"

For the next hour, Ben and Hop Sing managed to entertain Betsy Ann, but when the preparations for the day's remaining meals came to an end, the little girl seemed suddenly withdrawn.

"What shall we do now, darling?" When she didn't answer, Ben lifted her into his arms. "How about we go over to my desk? I have some pencils and paper there. Would you like to draw?"

Betsy Ann nodded. Ben put her down, and the two walked hand in hand to his desk. She scampered into his chair, and he gathered several pieces of paper and two sharpened pencils and placed them in front of Betsy Ann. She took a pencil in her hand and placed the tip on one of the papers.

"I'm gonna draw a picture for Mama. Is that all right Mister Ben?"

He stroked her hair and smiled. "I think that's a fine idea."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Riding side by side, the Cartwright brothers veered south along Crooked Creek Road. Nothing had been said since they'd started out. Nothing aloud, that is, and the silence hung thick in the air.

Adam knew his brothers were bothered by what had happened before they'd left to join the search party – Adam had avoided speaking to Betsy Ann.

Joe had ridden in, hard, from Virginia City. The Cartwrights had gathered by the barn, and Ben had assured his sons that Betsy Ann was out of earshot, inside the house, dressing for the day. The decision had been made quickly that Adam and Hoss would join the search for Jessamine and the marshal. But while Hoss, Joe, and Ben had gone back inside, Adam busied himself with filling canteens, gathering ammunition, and saddling Chubb and Sport. He'd even double checked the cinches and then topped off the canteens.

Now, as they neared the rest of the search party, facing Betsy Ann and questions about her mother still weighed on Adam's mind. Assurances and promises seemed like lies, and Adam had been taught that adults owed children something better. The closer they rode to the others, the more determined Adam became. If Jessamine Reid was alive, he'd bring her back to her little girl.

Sheriff Coffee met the Cartwright brothers half way, and as they joined the rest of the search party, he filled them in on their plans.

"We know Marshal Drake and Mrs. Reid headed out of Carson City in a rented buggy. This morning, the sheriff in Carson asked around town and found someone who passed them in the buggy about ten miles outside the city."

Hoss lifted his hat and swiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. "So we backtrack."

"That's right. And if we're lucky, we'll find the buggy with a cracked wheel and them holed up in the shade. Now let's get moving."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They'd been riding along either side of the road, eyes checking the scorched trail for clues. Twenty miles from Carson City, the search party came to an abrupt stop.

"There!" Hoss said, pointing to the tracks in the dust. "See 'em? Buggy tracks. Looks like they took off." Leaning from his saddle, he followed the channels in the dirt, between some trees and behind a crop of boulders. "Ran clean over . . . Here!" He looked up quickly. "The buggy's back here. It's been smashed to bits!"

Half of the party searched on foot, the others scattered further. Everyone looked for foot tracks, some sign that the marshal and Mrs. Reid had walked away from the buggy.

"Look!" Joe jumped from Cochise and knelt near some brush. "These are wagon tracks. And here . . . and over here . . . Drag marks."

Adam nodded. "Somebody stopped that buggy, Roy. And they dragged something or someone into a wagon."

"Adam's right," Hoss said. "And there's something else." He came from behind the rocks, the fingertips of his right hand held for everyone to see. "Blood. There's blood on what's left of that buggy."

Roy called for everyone to gather. "Men, it seems certain the marshal and the lady ran into some trouble."

Anxious, Joe spoke up. "You mean Crocker and his men."

"Now, Joe, we don't know that for sure, but I reckon it's a darn good possibility."

"Let's assume it was Crocker and his gang," Adam said, a touch of relief in his voice. "They're headed to Carson City. What are we waiting for?"

The men mounted, and once again, Roy split the group. "You men head down to the old trail and the rest of you come with me. Ride hard, but keep your eyes open. The two roads run parallel, so if ya see anything, fire three times."

Both groups started out, and Roy called to them with one more detail. "Crocker's a murderer, and he's likely got the marshal and a woman. Be careful, men."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Douglas and Jessamine rode through the brush. They had no way of knowing how soon Crocker would discover them missing, and the rugged terrain was their best chance for traveling undiscovered.

Though Douglas wouldn't admit it, the pain from the bullet in his shoulder throbbed with his horse's every step. He'd worried about Jessamine's abilities, but she rode alongside him, sometimes taking the lead, the lack of a saddle and tack doing nothing to slow her down.

"Douglas." Jessamine signed as she called his name, pointing to narrow stream running to their left. "I doubt the stock has been watered since . . ."

"All right. We'll stop, but only for a moment."

As the horses drank, so did Douglas and Jessamine. When they'd had their fill, they mounted and started off, slowly at first.

"You must know this area well," Douglas said. "I didn't see that stream until you pointed it out."

"I do know the area. And I'm sure you'd have seen it if you weren't hurting so badly."

"It's not so bad, really."

"It's another three miles or so to the Pierson ranch. We can see to your wound once we're there."

"Are there hands on this ranch?" He asked as he helped Jessamine onto her horse. "Someone who can go for help? Someone to send a wire to the sheriff in Virginia City?"

"Yes. The Piersons have several hands." They started on their way, side by side as they crossed the stream. "In fact, one of them used to meet up with Oliver and Betsy Ann, and they'd ride to Paiute Bluff." Jessamine's face grew solemn. "The bluff was one of Betsy Ann's favorite places. She hasn't been there since Oliver died."

Douglas couldn't seem to find words to comfort Jessamine. "We'd uh, we'd best get moving. The sooner we get to the Pierson place, the sooner we can get to the Ponderosa and your little girl."

Douglas was better at consoling than he knew.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When the Pierson homestead came into view, Marshal Drake and Jessamine spurred their horses to a full gallop. The rush of adrenaline returned, they bounded toward the house, lit from their horses, and sprinted for the door. Quickly, Douglas took the lead, holding Jessamine back with his arm.

"Douglas, what's-" She grasped his forearm and gasped.

He signaled her silence and gently pushed her against the house wall. Leaning forward, he peered into the opening – the front door was ajar. Without thinking, his hand moved to his side, and he shivered. A lawman feels naked without his holster.

With his arm still protectively placed, Douglas scanned the porch, looking for anything he could wield as a weapon. Propped against a support beam was a thick-handled broom, and he released Jessamine just long enough to snatch the long, wooden pole.

"Stay behind me," he whispered. Leaving her vulnerable on the porch was not an option.

Wide eyed, she nodded.

The door creaked and Douglas cursed under his breath. Slowly, he stepped forward, his feet steady, his eyes darting around the Piersons' living room. Shards of glass, splintered chairs, an overturned table, and smashed porcelain haunted the silent, vandalized room.

Jessamine smothered a gasp with one palm, and she clutched at Douglas' jacket with the other.

Cautiously, the pair weaved their way through the room, avoiding the ruin scattered on the floor. As they approached the first of three bedrooms, Douglas pushed Jessamine against the hallway wall, and then he spoke to her, silently, with eyes that warned of what they might find.

From the first bedroom to the third, they found destruction and chaos: upturned mattresses, emptied dresser drawers, and chifferobe doors left dangling on their hinges. Three times, Douglas had directed Jessamine to a corner of a room, motioned her to stay, and then plowed through muddle on the floors, searching for signs of the Piersons and their hands.

Convinced the ransacked house was connected to Jubal Crocker and his men, Douglas started for the kitchen, once again tucking Jessamine behind him. Their breathing came in short, shallow gasps, images of the murder in the Reid kitchen foremost in their thoughts.

Douglas stopped abruptly, and Jessamine found herself pressed tightly against his back.

"Don't look" was all he said.

Tears exploded in her eyes, pools of sorrow and fear that swelled and spilled onto her cheeks. "Who?"

"A woman. Blonde, petite."

"Oh, God. It's Jane. J-Jane Pierson."

Jessamine moved, slightly, and Douglas spun to face her, seizing her by the shoulders. His rough touch made her gasp.

"Douglas, wha-"

The alarm in his eyes was startling.

"There's mo . . .? Another? Patrick, too?"

Douglas squared his shoulders, determined to veil the grisly scene. "A man, tall and stalky, with a dark mustache and-"

Jessamine scraped her bottom lip with her teeth and nodded. "Patrick Pierson."

Tipping his head, his eyes softened. "And another. A red-haired young man."

"Oo-oo-oh!" Jessamine closed her eyes and dropped her forehead against his chest. "That's Seth. He and Oliver and Betsy Ann used to go exploring together. He's . . . he was a sweet boy, my daughter's friend."

"They've been gone for days, Jessie." He hesitated. "The house has been torn apart, just like yours. Someone was looking for something. Looking hard."

Tears streaked Jessamine's face, and she fought against the numbness threatening to wash over her.

"Jessie, there's a box near the boy, near Seth. The lock's been shot from it. Do you remember Seth or the Piersons having such a box?"

Jessamine shook her head. "I don't know . . . I can't be sure . . . Wait. Betsy Ann and Oliver went exploring one day. I made a picnic lunch, and Betsy Ann asked me to make extra sandwiches because Seth was going along. When they returned, there was something . . ." She shook her head again and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "Something about Seth carving small horses. He gave one to Betsy Ann, and she said Oliver gave Seth a box for his carvings." Jessamine looked up at Douglas, sudden awareness in her voice. "She said it was a box with a lock on the front! But I don't understand. What would Crocker want with Seth's carved horses?"

"The horses are here, Jessie, scattered all over the floor. Crocker was looking for the box, but the box didn't hold what he expected – the money he'd stolen."

Jessamine waved a finger at Douglas as she back out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "No! You're wrong! The stolen money couldn't have been in that box. Not ever! It would mean that Oliver . . . No! You're wrong!"

"All right. For now, let's say I'm wrong." He took her hand in his and led her down the hallway and into the living room. "We need to get going."

Jessamine pulled back. "We can't leave them like this!"

"We have no way of knowing for sure," he said as he opened the Piersons' gun cabinet, "but I'd bet Crocker has already discovered us gone and his man dead in our place. He's tracking us, Jessie. I'm sure of it."

Jessamine glanced toward the hallway.

"We'll send someone back to bury them, proper. I promise. Here." Douglas held out a rifle and a box of shells. "Load this, and put the rest in your pockets."

Douglas did the same with two more rifles before searching the cabinet drawers for a holster and pistol. He found one, check it for bullets, and then slipped it around his waist. "Let's go. We have some time to make up. We'll have to ride hard and fast."

Jessamine's nod was hesitant. "All right. I'm ready."


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Acting deputy Rafe Buchanan paced the sidewalk in front of the depot. The stage was late, a common occurrence he'd never much paid notice to until today. He'd already checked his timepiece four times within the last ten minutes, and on the fifth check, he'd barely pulled the watch from his vest pocket when the rumble of the stage wheels caught his ears.

He stood, anxiously stepping from side to side, until the coach, in a cloud of dust and sand, came to a stop in front of the depot. The wagon door swung open, and Rafe stepped forward, leaving little room for the sole, disembarking passenger.

"Clem, I sure am glad you're back!"

"Well, now, I'm not exactly back until my foot touches the ground, am I?"

Rafe quickly took three steps backward.

Deputy Clem Foster climbed down and reached for his bag. "All right, now, Rafe, what's got you so all fired riled up?"

As they made their way across Virginia City's busy main street, Rafe explained all that had transpired since Deputy Foster had been called away to testify in Stillwater. The details came to an abrupt end just as the pair entered the town jail.

"Now, I'd heard some of this from the sheriff in Carson City. But, you mean to tell me that little girl's at the Ponderosa with Adam, Hoss, and Joe out with the posse?"

"Yes, sir, that's what Sheriff Coffee said."

"Now," Clem said as he tossed his hat atop the sheriff's desk, "I know Ben Cartwright's a force to be reckoned with. I've seen him in action many a time. But Jubal Crocker and his gang are blood thirsty killers."

Rafe nodded his head. "That's why Mr. Cartwright's got a mess o' hands positioned around that fancy ranch house of his. Accordin' to Sheriff Coffee, they've got orders to ask questions later."

"Well," Clem said as he reached for a rifle and ammunition, "I'm gonna take a ride to the Ponderosa and see for myself. If Roy gets back, tell him where I went."

"Will do, Clem, will do."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The rumble of hooves from a single rider floated on the air and through the walls of the Ponderosa ranch house. With a subtle tilt of his head, Ben directed Hop Sing to take Betsy Ann upstairs.

"Missy Betsy Ann come. Help Hop Sing put laundry in back bedroom."

"Okay, Hop Sing. Mr. Ben, are you gonna help, too?"

Ben smiled nervously, patting Betsy Ann's back as he hurried her toward the steps. "No, darling, I'm not. I've got some work to do, some papers to write up." He looked down into her eyes, and his voice echoed a calm he did not feel. "Why, you and I've been playing checkers so long, I nearly forgot about my work." Ben nodded as, behind the little girl, Hop Sing slipped a pistol into his apron pocket. "Now, run along with Hop Sing."

"Okay," Betsy Ann said, holding Hop Sing's hand as they made their climb.

Before they'd rounded the top of the stairs, Ben made his way to the loaded rifle and gun belt he'd left sitting, ready, on the doorway credenza. He cocked the hammer of his pistol just before he heard the soft rapping against the front door. Stepping closer, Ben drew his gun. "Who's there?"

"It's Clem, Ben."

Ben breathed a sigh, lowered his gun, and unlatched the door. As it opened, Clem Foster slipped inside the house.

"Your men recognized me and let me come on through."

"How many'd ya see?"

"Three, along the east turn-off. Said they haven't seen anyone else." Clem glanced around the room as he continued. "They came up on me without a warning, Ben. Never saw or heard even a one of 'em."

"They're good men."

"Sure are. If any of them every wanna leave ranchin' behind, tell them to come see me and Roy at the jailhouse."

Ben nodded, too anxious for a smile.

"Where's the little girl?"

"Hop Sing has her, upstairs. All she knows is that we're trying to locate her mother. She thinks she's still in San Francisco. Betsy Ann has no idea Mrs. Reid and the marshal have gone missing."

Clem shook his head. "About that . . . On my way back from Stillwater, I stopped off in Carson City and spoke to the sheriff there. He had some new information about the buggy Marshal Drake rented. Ben, it was a brand new buggy."

"Brand new, you say?"

"That's right. There's only a slim chance that buggy threw a wheel or broke an axle."

"Yeah, that's what I figured, Clem." The weight of the information dropped Ben into his chair.

Clem removed his hat and sat precariously on the edge of the settee. Squeezing the hat's rim, he glanced at the top of the staircase. "Ben, Rafe told me about how that little girl made her way to the Ponderosa. Now, if Crocker and his gang were watching the Reids, they may know the missus went to San Francisco. Why, they might have followed her there and back. They might've seen the marshal meet her and then just waited for the right moment to bushwhack the buggy."

Ben laced his fingers and stared at his knuckles.

Would Clem's thoughts confirm what Ben had already been thinking?

Clem leaned in closer to Ben. "Let's just say," Clem said softly, "Crocker and his gang were watching the girl the day she ran off. We know she left the house before Mrs. Delgado was murdered. If Crocker thinks the girl knows something about the heist money, it stands to reason he'd still be looking for her. Maybe he followed her tracks, caught up with the man in the wagon, maybe even found the trail to that camp where Adam found her. It's not like the little girl was hiding her tracks, now, is it?"

Ben held up his hand and nodded. "No. No, she wasn't," he said as he sprung to his feet. "I trust my men, but we have no idea how large Crocker's gang is. Clem, we've got to get her somewhere they won't be able to find her."

Clem stood and faced Ben. "You got any ideas?"

Ben scuffed Clem's shoulder and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do, but I'm gonna need your help."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Is Henry dead?"

"If he isn't, I'm gonna take pleasure in killing him myself!"

Crocker kicked Henry's shoulder, flipping his lifeless body onto its back. He glared at the dead man, rage building inside. "Tell me, Marty, how do a bleeding lawman and a skinny bitch manage to untie themselves and get the drop on an armed man?"There were times when Crocker wanted to hear himself talk. Marty knew this was one of those times.

Crocker leaned down. "I'll tell you how." Gathering the dead man's shirt in his fists, Crocker lifted the body several inches off the floor. "When you're a worthless, stupid piece of shit, that's how!"

For a brief moment, Marty allowed himself to mourn his friend.

Crocker dropped Henry's body against the floor, stood, and spun to face Marty. "We were in that damn barn for what, forty five minutes, an hour?"

Marty wondered if this was, again, one of those times.

Crocker turned to Marty, shoving him against the wall. "I asked you a question!"

It was not one of those times.

"Yeah, Jubal. We was in the barn for about an hour."

Crocker paced, kicking at the binding ropes left where his prisoners had been tied. "They couldn't have gotten far. That marshal's hurt. Should o' killed him and that bitch right off." He wrapped his fingers around the back of a dining chair and flung it across the room. "We can catch 'em." Jubal headed for the door. "They're on foot. Let's get trackin' before we lose light."

"Uh, Jubal?" The moment he heard his own voice, Marty regretted having used it.

Crocker turned sharply, glaring at him. "What?"

"They might not be on foot."

Once again, Crocker's fists were full of cloth. "What are you talking about?"

The stench of Crocker's breath made Marty gag. He swallowed hard. "When Henry and me was keeping an eye on the Reids, we found a second corral, down by the Truckee."

"That's why I never saw any horses," Crocker thought aloud.

Marty nodded. "If they was able to-"

"They was, and they did, and that means they're an hour ahead of us on horseback!" Crocker propelled Marty across the room. "They're headed for that brat!" His eyes grew fiery. "Let's go. We follow the tracks, and we find what we're looking for!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"We've been riding hard for an hour. We should rest the horses for a few minutes."

"All right," Jessamine said. She quickly dismounted and sat on the edge of an old tree stump.

Douglas climbed down and gathered their horses' reins. "Since we took the Piersons' horses, we've been able travel at a faster pace, but we still have a ways to go."

Jessamine smoothed her skirts and sat taller. Exhaustion wouldn't keep her from her daughter.

"Once they drink, you think you can ride faster?"

"Yes, Douglas."

"Good."

Patience under fire was not Douglas Drake's strong suit. He fidgeted as the horses watered, a burning question weighing on his mind.

Jessamine stood, her hands planted firmly at her waist. "Douglas, what's bothering you?"

He exhaled. "I wouldn't ask, not without . . . I'm sorry, but there's something we need to-"

"What is it?"

"Jessamine . . . You said you'd gone to San Francisco to settle your late husband's affairs."

"That's right."

"You mentioned that he left you and Betsy Ann fairly well off."

"Yes. Between the ranch and the investments, and the savings I discovered . . ."

Now, it was Jessamine who fidgeted. "Just what are you suggesting, Marshal Drake?"

Her sudden formality stung him.

"Well?"

Douglas led the horses from the river bank. "Just hear me out, all right?"

Jessamine nodded.

"Jubal Crocker thinks, for whatever reason, that someone on your ranch found the money he and his gang stole from the bank in Aurora."

He hesitated, anticipating a response from Jessamine. What he got was unsettling silence.

"Crocker's gang got away, scot-free, but Crocker was captured and charged with robbery and the murder of the bank teller. The only witness," Douglas continued, "the bank manager, changed his testimony after his wife mysteriously fell to her death near their home." He watched as newfound fear washed over her face.

"Jess, there are a lot of possibilities, and one of them is that Oliver found Crocker's money and-"

"My husband was not a bank robber!"

"I didn't say that! Jess, he may have found the money somewhere on your property. And if Crocker had your ranch watched while he was serving his one year sentence . . ."

Jessamine steadied herself against her horse's flank. "You mean someone may have pushed Oliver from the barn roof?"

Gently, Douglas touched her shoulder. "I can't say for sure, Jess, but I'm beginning to think your husband found the box Crocker had buried. I believe that box ended up at the Pierson ranch. If I'm right, it stands to be that Oliver may have used the money he found to help your ranch financially."

"No! If Oliver found that money, he'd have turned it over to the authorities. He'd have told me . . . He'd have . . . We didn't have secrets! We . . ."

"These are all assumptions, Jess. Nothing's been proven except that Crocker wants his money back and he thinks you and your daughter can see to it."

"Betsy Ann!"

"Let's get to the Ponderosa!"


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Constantly scanning the horizon, Roy Coffee and his search party rode on. They'd covered nearly ten miles since they'd split off from the others, and it wouldn't be long before their parallel trails would once again merge.

Roy stood in his stirrups and squinted, the afternoon sun casting shadows in the distance. A moment later, Roy waved the group on, leading them, single-file, through a sizable outcropping of rocks. As they came to a clearing, the sheriff's right arm swept upward. The men came to a sudden halt.

The faint patter of hoof beats sent the search party scattering, and Roy was grateful for the girth of the rocks and the speed of his men.

Listening carefully, Roy detected the approach of two horses, and he held up two fingers for each of his men to see. Without a thought, he drew his gun and took cover as the horses came into view.

Cautiously, Roy craned his neck, and when the riders came closer, he stepped into the open, his pistol leveled next to his hip. "That'll be far enough."

Douglas and Jessamine pulled up, hard, on their reins. "Sheriff," Douglas said as his feet hit the ground, "I'm U.S. Marshal Doulgas-"

"Drake. And you must be Mrs. Reid."

"That's right."

"Name's Sheriff Coffee, from Virginia City. Marshal, we're mighty glad to see you and Mrs. Reid." Roy holstered his gun. "You mind fillin' us in on what happened?"

"Sheriff!" Jessamine scrambled from her horse. "My daughter, is she all right?"

Roy stepped closer to the frantic woman. "Ma'am, last I heard, your little girl's safe and sound at the Ponderosa."

"But -"

"Sheriff Coffee," Douglas said as he held fast to Jessamine's shoulders, "Crocker and two men stopped our buggy on the trail just outside of the Ponderosa."

Jessamine turned toward Douglas, her eyes locking with his. "They shot him, sheriff!"

Douglas put her at ease with the gentle look in his eyes. "A shoulder wound's all. Crocker's still searching for the robbery money. In fact, it looks as if he killed three more people about an hour east of here. The Piersons and their hand." His voice softened. "We had to leave them."

"Piersons, you say?" Roy asked.

"That's right. They had a small spread to the east, down along the Truckee." Douglas steered Jessamine to her horse. "Sheriff, Crocker can't be far behind us. He's down to one man, unless there's more we don't know of, and he's hell bent on finding that stolen money. And that means he's after the people he suspects have it – Mrs. Reid and her daughter."

Roy dipped his head. "I believe we're thinkin' the same way, marshal. You up to this?"

"No." Jessamine reached for Douglas. "Sheriff, he's been shot. He can't-"

Douglas flashed a smile. "I'll be fine, Jess."

"It's settled then." Roy swung into his saddle and sized up his posse. "Dave, Edgar, Sammy, you three come with me and the marshal." Roy nodded to the remaining men. "You two take Mrs. Reid. Meet up with the other posse at the agreed place. Send the Cartwright boys and the lady here back to the Ponderosa. Tell 'em to take the main trail. It's faster, and someone like Crocker's less likely to take a well-traveled road."

Newfound panic grew in the pit of Jessamine's stomach. "Douglas, I-"

"It's all right. You'll be safe with the Cartwrights. I trust them." He took her hands in his.

"Once you deliver Mrs. Reid to the Cartwright boys, head for Carson City. We'll meet up at the old Paiute Bluff turn off. Now remember, any one of us could come up on Crocker. He's the worst of the worst. Don't take no chances."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The trail they'd chosen was rough and seldom traveled. Adam had taken the lead, and his brothers and their two volunteers had kept his pace for miles. With no sign of the marshal and Mrs. Reid, and no encounters with Crocker or any of his men, Adam's focus wavered, his thoughts drifting to Betsy Ann. Just how do you tell a little girl that her mother isn't coming back?

As they rode on, Hoss felt a tingle in his spine. He slowed Chubb to a trot and sat tall in his saddle, studying the landscape.

Joe rode alongside, standing in his stirrups as he matched his bigger brother's speed. "Hoss, what is it?"

"I don't know. Just a feelin'."

The posse waited, each man listening and watching. The afternoon heat teased their sight, its billowing haze rippling along the ground in every direction.

"You see that?" Hoss pointed into the distance.

Four pairs of eyes followed his finger, but it was Joe who recognized two of the approaching horses.

"It's the Farley brothers. I recognize their Appaloosas."

"You're right, Joe," Adam said.

"Who's that they got with 'em?"

Joe stretched forward and squinted. "Looks like a woman." He glanced at his brothers. "Looks like Roy's party found Jessamine Reid."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The introductions had been brief, and that pleased Adam Cartwright. He'd decided he wasn't going to like Jessamine Reid, no matter what his father had said or how she explained her reasons for leaving her daughter with the Delgados. But Adam knew little girls need their mothers, and that knowledge came from knowing that little boys often did, as well.

The other members of the search posse had gone west, covering ground to where they'd meet up with Sheriff Coffee and Marshal Drake's party. As the Cartwrights and Jessamine started out, Adam took the lead, leaving Hoss and Joe to flank Jessamine as they made their way toward the Ponderosa.

They rode in silence, the tension of responsibility weighing on the Cartwright brothers. Betsy Ann had won their hearts, and now that Jessamine had been found, delivering her safe and sound took precedence, for the time being, to catching Jubal Crocker and his only remaining henchman.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Clumps of arid soil lay upturned along the trail, and next to them, a weathered post rested on the sandy ground. At the end of the post was a sign – Paiute Bluff. The fallen marker went unnoticed, the junction well known to Roy and the men in his group. They formed a circle. Each man sat high in his saddle, eyes ever watchful for approaching riders.

Five minutes passed before Marshal Drake made the call. "There! From the west. Four riders."

"That's Steve and Donny and the Farley boys." As Roy turned his horse, he silently reviewed his plan. The posse of nine would break into two groups, their destination - the Reid homestead. Roy knew that by now, Crocker had found his captives missing, and a man like Crocker would waste no time in exacting his revenge.

Dusty Farley filled Roy in, telling him they'd met up with the Cartwright boys and that Mrs. Reid was on her way to the Ponderosa. Roy thanked the men, and then he explained his strategy and the posses set off along the parallel trails.

The further Marshal Drake and his men traveled, the more anxious he became. If neither group encountered Crocker, and the Reid ranch was deserted, that left only one possibility - Jessamine wasn't the only one heading for the Ponderosa.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Adam. Hey, Adam!" Hoss rode up alongside his older brother. "The lady looks mighty tired. You reckon it's safe to stop for a bit?"

Adam turned toward his brother. Hoss had seen that look many times before; the glare made him shiver.

"Guess not." Hoss glanced back at Jessamine. "I reckon the lady'd fancy gettin' to the ranch quicker anyhow." He slowed just long enough to wind up back at Jessamine's side, and when he looked over at Joe, he saw the same concern he wore on his own face.

They continued on, always alert, mindful of their purpose. Reuniting Betsy Ann and Jessamine was paramount, second only to keeping mother and daughter safe from Jubal Crocker.

Their horses had kept a steady pace for nearly two hours, and when Sport suddenly sped up, Chubb and Cochise refused to be left behind. Jessamine grasped her saddle horn as her horse matched their speed, and her anxiety reached a new level when Hoss assured her they were nearly at the Ponderosa ranch house.

With eyes that never strayed, Jessamine set her sights on Adam's broad back. She tapped her heels against her horse's sides, and the mare soon caught up to the Cartwright horses.

Joe pointed to the left, giving Jessamine direction as the crossroads loomed just ahead. She nodded, her face flushed with the prospect of seeing her little girl, a reaction that did not go unnoticed by Adam.

As the foursome rounded the turn, standing across the road, rifles at the ready, were three of the Cartwrights' best hands. Hoss was the first to pull up on the reins. Chubb knew his master well and reacted quickly to the sudden request. Cochise and Sport did the same, but Cochise reared and Sport turned and twisted his head.

Jessamine's horse, unaccustomed to her touch, reared as well, and Jessamine toppled sideways to the ground. She landed hard, her shoulder taking the brunt of the tumble. The mare fared better, seeming to calm quickly before trotting a safe distance from the fallen rider.

"Mrs. Reid!" Joe slid from his saddle, dropping to her side.

"Adam, we didn't know! We heard riders, but we couldn't see you til-"

"I know, Chad." Adam rushed to Joe and Jessamine. "Someone ride for the doctor."

"I'm all right," Jessamine said, her breath catching as rolled to her side.

Adam reached for her, supporting her back as she sat upright. "What is it?"

"My shoulder. I think it's just bruised. No need for a doctor. I have to get to Betsy Ann."

Adam called out without looking up. "Chad, get the doctor." He didn't wait for a reply. "Hoss, help me get her onto Sport."

Hoss led the horse closer as Adam continued. "Joe, go on ahead. I don't want Betsy Ann to see her mother like this. Ask Pa to take her upstairs until Mrs. Reid can get cleaned up."

Joe agreed and took off for the house while Adam and Hoss helped Jessamine to her feet.

"The rest of you, stand guard. Be as diligent as you just were." Adam climbed behind Jessamine and slid his arm around her waist. "Crocker's killed at least four innocent people. Be careful, and don't let him get to the house."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The ranch house sat bathed in eerie silence, the wide front door, ajar. Nothing moved, no bird sang, no leaves rustled in the stillness. The back of his neck tingled, and he squeezed his thighs against his horse, anticipating the worst.

As if planned and rehearsed, pistols were quickly drawn and hammers were deftly cocked.

He pointed, first left, then right, certain his directions would be understood and blindly followed. Within seconds, the house was surrounded. As the doors were breeched, stealthy footfall became heavier, and with each empty, ransacked room, it became clearer - Jubal Crocker was no longer at the Reid ranch.

"Sheriff," Marshal Drake called, "in here."

Roy Coffee holstered his gun. "You find something?" Stepping around overturned furniture and over piles of looted belongings, he made his way to Betsy Ann's bedroom.

Douglas waved Roy closer and extended his hand.

Roy took the paper from the marshal - a child-like, pencil-drawn picture - and he moved to the window to examine it closely. What he saw begged to be connected to the events of the past few days: two men, a little girl, a box, and a tall rock.

"What do you make of this, Sheriff?"

"Probably the same thing you do." Roy pointed as he spoke. "Oliver Reid, Betsy Ann Reid, the Pierson hand, Seth, Paiute Bluff, and the box Jubal Crocker buried."

"From what I've been told, she has no idea." Douglas dropped the rag doll he'd been holding in the crook of his arm. "Betsy Ann, I mean."

Roy folded the drawing and slipped it into his inside vest pocket. "And what about Mrs. Reid?"

Douglas shook his head. "I've spent quite a bit of time with Je – with Mrs. Reid, and I believe she's telling the truth. She's completely in the dark."

"And her late husband?"

Douglas mashed his lips and tipped his head. "I have no idea if Oliver Reid was part of Crocker's gang or simply stumbled on the box and decided to keep the money for his family." Douglas started for the bedroom door. "Either way, Crocker wants that money, and that means he's still looking for Betsy Ann and Mrs. Reid."

"Sheriff! Sheriff Coffee!"

The entire posse rushed to the back yard and followed Roy and Douglas down to the side of the Reid's new barn.

"Over here, Roy. A body. A man, an older man."

Roy bent closer to the fly-covered corpse lying in the brush. He nearly gagged, and stood quickly before stepping away. "I'd wager its Mr. Delgado. Poor man. Looks like he bled to death."

Douglas turned, racing toward his horse. "We've got to get to the Ponderosa," he shouted over his shoulder.

"I'm right behind you. Steve, Donny," Roy pointed, "you two hang back, bury Mr. Delgado next to his wife, then ride for Virginia City." Roy mounted his horse and fell in alongside the rest of the posse. "Tell Deputy Foster what's happened. Let him know we're headed for the Ponderosa."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The ranch house sat bathed in eerie silence. Nothing moved, no bird sang, no leaves rustled in the stillness. The back of his neck tingled, and he squeezed his thighs against his horse, anticipating the worst.

Caution was foremost in his mind. He knew the house should not appear to be deserted. He slipped from his saddle and tethered his horse. Light on his feet, he approached the front door. With a final glance at his surroundings, he reached for the door latch, pressed down, and heard the clack of the lock.

Moving inside, intuition led his hand, and his fingertips slipped around the grip of his gun. He'd taken just three steps when, in front of him, a shadow crossed the floor. Dropping to one knee, he spun and drew his pistol. "That's far enough!"

"Joseph?"

"Pa?"

Ben lowered his gun and sighed.

"Sorry, Pa. When I didn't see the guard on the porch, I figured something had gone wrong."

"Everything's fine, Joe, everything's fine." Ben peered through the open doorway. "You left the posse. You've come back alone." Wary, he looked to his son. "The marshal and Mrs. Reid, they aren't-"

"No, Pa. They're all right. But we didn't find them. They found us."

Confusion washed over Ben's face.

"It's a long story that'll have to wait. The marshal went with Roy and the rest of the posse. They're still out looking for Crocker."

Ben shook his head. "I was hoping you'd tell me Crocker's in a jail cell." His brow wrinkled. "But what about Mrs. Reid?"

Joe tossed his hat atop the credenza. "She's with Adam and Hoss. They'll be along any minute." He glanced around the room, and then stepped closer to his father. "Pa," he said softly, "Mrs. Reid took a fall from her horse a ways back."

"Poor woman's been through enough."

Joe scratched his head. "Pa, you don't know the half of it. But like I said, that'll have to wait. She's all right, a bruised shoulder is all. Adam sent me on ahead to make sure Betsy Ann's occupied until her mother can clean up. He didn't want to take a chance on frightening the little girl."

"Joe," Ben said, "Betsy Ann isn't here."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The walls of the ravine narrowed, and Marty forced himself to focus on the opening ahead. Crocker led the way, having taken them through canyons, into gulches, and across thick, pine forests. Marty doubted Crocker knew exactly where they were going, but they'd agreed the main roads and side trails would be watched. Their original plan had failed, and a missing woman and U.S. Marshal were guaranteed to draw the attention of lawmen, and lawmen meant posses.

The Reid ranch had proven to be a fruitless waste of time, and, in yet another rant, Crocker had taken out his anger on the dead. With Marty left to bear witness, Crocker blamed the deceased Henry for everything that had gone wrong, going so far as to say it was Henry's idea to bury the stolen money at the base of the arrow-shaped rock at Paiute Bluff.

Marty knew better, but as Crocker raged on, he'd lowered his eyes and nodded his head. Crocker was ruthless, eager to kill, and even more dangerous when angered by his own failure.

And now, amid the narrowing mountain walls, Marty's nerves were on edge. According to Crocker, the Ponderosa was still several hours away. If they weren't lost.

In addition, in all the years he'd spent as part of Crocker's gang, there numbers had never fallen below five. And now, with only the two of them, Marty wondered what chance they'd stand if the Ponderosa had armed herself well.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

When Adam, Jessamine, and Hoss rode into the yard, Ben and Joe stood waiting in the shadows on the porch.

Before her feet touched the ground, Jessamine asked for her daughter.

Ben recognized the desperation in her tone and immediately waved them over. "Inside, quickly. We can't stay out here in the open."

While Adam stood point, Hoss rushed up beside Jessamine, taking her by the arm and escorting her inside. Adam followed, eyes combing the yard as he backed into the house.

No sooner had Ben closed and locked the door than Jessamine's panic surfaced. "Betsy Ann!"

Ben rushed to stand in front of her. "Mrs. Reid, I assure you, your daught-"

"Betsy Ann!" Jessamine stepped further into the room, peering first into the dining room, then Ben's study.

"Mrs. Reid, if you'll just listen-"

"Is she all right? Where's my little girl?"

"Mrs. Reid, I'm Ben Cartwright. Your daughter isn't here."

"What?"

Worried glances spread between Ben's sons, and Jessamine crumpled against the side of the settee.

"Pa?" Hoss took hold of Jessamine's arm, easing her into the seat of the settee.

Adam turned his father by the shoulder. "Pa, where is she?"

"Betsy Ann's all right," Ben assured. "Deputy Foster and I've seen to it that she's safe."

Jessamine looked up at Ben. "I-I don't understand."

Ben glanced at Joe and nodded toward the brandy tray. As Joe poured, Ben sat next to Jessamine. "Clem, that's Deputy Foster, and I talked through several possibilities when you and Marshal Drake went missing. One of those possibilities was that Jubal Crocker might have prevented you and the marshal from getting from Carson City to the Ponderosa."

Joe handed Jessamine a glass.

Ben continued, "Clem and I both felt Crocker might then put two and two together and come here to the ranch."

Jessamine raised the glass to her lips. Unaccustomed to alcohol of any kind, she hesitated. Looking around the room, she realized that four strangers were responsible for the safety of her daughter and herself, and she downed the finger of brandy in two quick swallows. Immediately, her eyes watered and she began to cough.

"Joseph, some water."

"Right away, Pa."

Before Joe could get past the dining room, Jessamine recovered enough to speak. "Thank you, water would help. Please, Mr. Cartwright, tell me, where is my little girl?"

"She's with someone she feels comfortable with, a man I trust implicitly."

Relief washed over Adam's face. "Hop Sing."

"That's right, son. Betsy Ann and Hop Sing are visiting Honorable Cousin number six."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Jessamine sat her water on the table and sprang to her feet. "I was told my daughter was here, on this, this Ponderosa," she whirled, facing Ben, "and in your care!"

"She was, Mrs. Reid, and I assure you, she's perfectly safe where she is now."

"You can't know that! She isn't here, where you and I can see for ourselves that she's all right." Jessamine wobbled slightly.

"Please, Mrs. Reid, you must calm down. You've been through an ordeal and-"

"I don't care about myself, Mr. Cartwright. Betsy Ann is the one who's been through an ordeal. I came here expecting to see my little girl, and now, I find out you've left her in someone else's care!"

Adam stood with his hands against his hips. "The pot calling the kettle black."

Jessamine stood, agape.

"Adam!" Ben growled.

Jessamine stepped in front of Adam. "Just what is it you're trying to say?"

"I'm not trying," he said coolly. "I already said it."

"What gives you the right to speak to me that way?"

"I'll tell you what give me the right. Finding Betsy Ann frightened, hungry, and hiding under a blanket she stole from a stranger whose wagon brought her from Carson City to our ranch."

"Adam, that's enough!"

Jessamine moved closer to Adam. "I had no way of knowing she'd run-"

"That's right. You had no way of knowing because you were off in San Francisco while your daughter was in someone else's care."

"Adam!" Ben stepped between his son and Jessamine. "I apologize for my son's behavior, Mrs. Reid."

"My father may apologize, but I do not."

Hoss had heard enough. "Oh, c'mon, Adam. Mrs. Reid couldn't of known her daughter'd run off, and it's for dang sure nobody could of guessed that a little gal could make it all the way from Carson to the Ponderosa."

"Hoss is right," Ben said. "Mrs. Reid, I'm afraid you're just going to have to trust me, trust us, when we say your daughter is safe in the Chinese Quarter with Hop Sing. What I wasn't able to tell you before," he glared at Adam, then looked back to Jessamine, "is that Deputy Foster is keeping a close watch on things in Virginia City. Now, Adam, why don't you go into the kitchen and heat some water. Joe, show our guest to the spare room upstairs. Mrs. Reid, you should tend to your shoulder. The hot water will help. Hoss, when Joe comes back down, the two of you, see to the horses."

Joe nodded to Jessamine. "This way, ma'am."

Jessamine nodded as exhaustion crept into her posture. She wasn't sure, yet, if she liked these Cartwrights, but she knew she had to trust them. After all, Douglas trusted them, and she trusted Douglas.

"Wait," Adam called, just as she and Joe reached the staircase. He forced a civil expression onto his face. "I, uh, I was rude. It's not my place to judge, and I apologize. I guess I won't be myself until Crocker's been caught and Betsy Ann . . . and her mother are out of danger."

Jessamine's features softened. "Apology accepted, Mr. Cartwright."

"Adam. Please, call me, Adam."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Riding in silence suited Jubal Crocker. His father'd always said that small talk gives birth to a man's weaknesses, and Crocker had always made a point of burying his own. Being a loner agreed with him, and spending time in the company of his gang always seemed to leave a sour tang in the pit of his stomach.

Marty was the only one left, and in Crocker's view, the simplest of mind. Marty always followed orders, and Crocker felt him incapable of formulating his own. Most of the time, that flaw made for an invaluable member of a gang. But with just the two of them on the trail of the stolen money, Crocker wished Marty's thinking was more acute.

Up ahead, the ravine widened, and Crocker sat tall in his saddle. "We must be getting close," he said. "The border of the Ponderosa's just a bit further."

"I thought you said you'd never been there." Immediately, regret backed up into Marty's throat.

Crocker pulled hard on his reins, and his horse pitched its head to the side. "How many times have I told you not to think, Marty?"

"Sorry, Jubal."

"Leave the thinking to someone who can do it!" Jubal yanked on the reins, again, and spurred his horse harder than necessary. "We're almost there, Marty, and the law's bound to be lookin' for us." He glared at Marty as they rode side by side. "This is no time for mistakes. We're gonna find that kid and her mother and my money."

"Your money?"

"Just shut up and keep your eyes peeled!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The posse arrived at the Ponderosa boundary just before daybreak. Roy scattered the men, three to the south and three to continue westward. He picked Sammy and Marshal Douglas to accompany him to the house. At least one man in each group knew the trails and shortcuts of the ranch well, and the sheriff waved them off with a final reminder to keep their eyes and ears open.

Riding in silence tweaked Roy's last nerve. For more than an hour, he'd felt danger lurking from behind, and although their horses were beginning to lather, he pushed them at a harried pace.

Sammy trusted Roy's intuition, and Marshal Drake's silence endorsed it tenfold. Eyes ever vigilant, the three rode past Indian Leap, across the meadow at Bear Run, and through the lush pine forest that led to the trail to the Ponderosa ranch house.

They were the second group to be stopped by Ben's ranch hand look-outs, Arthur and Tony. Douglas breathed a sigh of relief to learn the Cartwrights had delivered Jessamine safe and sound. Anxious to see Jessamine and meet the little girl he'd heard so much about, Douglas grew impatient with Roy's seemingly endless questions.

"Now, you men are sure no one else has come by here?"

"That's right, sheriff," Arthur said. "Just the Cartwright boys and that pretty lady."

Tony nodded. "I'm afraid the lady took a fall."

Douglas stiffened. "A fall?"

"Yes, sir, marshal. I guess the lady's horse didn't take kindly to us poppin' out of the bushes."

"Was she injured?"

"Said she mighta bruised her shoulder's all. Adam was afraid her horse might spook again, so she rode double with him the rest of the way."

Douglas suddenly felt strange. He'd defended and protected witnesses and victims on many occasions, but he'd never before had feelings of jealousy.

"You ready, marshal?"

Douglas jerked, unsettled that he'd been drifting in thought.

"Marshal Drake?"

"Yes, Sheriff Coffee, I'm ready."

"All right then. Art, Tony, you boys be on your toes."

Tony gave a mock salute. "You know it, sheriff."

"Marshal, let's ride."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The early evening sky glowed, layered with thick clouds, some white, others radiant with the lowering sun. When Roy, Sammy, and Douglas rode into the yard, the house standing before them appeared deserted. Cautiously, they dismounted and approached the house.

Douglas stood, gun drawn, at the corner of the porch, while Sammy tucked himself into the shadows along the side of the house. Roy stepped lightly toward the front door. He raised his fist, ready to knock, when a familiar voice boomed through the finely lathed pine.

"Roy, put your guns down. Everything's all right here."

As the sheriff signaled to Sammy and Douglas, the door opened. Once inside, everyone gathered near the hearth. Everyone, except Jessamine.

"Mrs. Reid was exhausted," Ben explained as he offered coffee from a tray he carried. "Still, it took all of us to talk her into getting some rest."

Douglas did nothing to hide his concern. "But you're sure she's all right, after her fall, I mean."

"Yes, marshal. Doc Martin was here. He checked her out and she's fine. Tired and worried about her daughter, but fine."

Roy poured himself a cup of coffee, anxious to get back to the search. "Speaking of the little girl, just where is she?"

Ben considered the men in the room. He trusted Roy with his life, and the marshal, who he'd met once before, had a reputation that preceded him. Sammy, the son of one of Ben's oldest friends, had proven himself on more than one occasion. Satisfied, Ben revealed the location of little Betsy Ann.

"She's with Hop Sing." He saw confusion on Marshal Drake's face. "Hop Sing is our general factotum. You see, Clem, Deputy Foster, and I came up with the plan. Hop Sing backed a wagon close to the kitchen door. He and I loaded it with baskets and crates, as if he was taking laundry and supplies into Virginia City. Clem hid amid those crates, and Betsy Ann, well, she was in one of the laundry baskets."

Adam grinned. "Bet she loved that."

"She did, son, she really did. After everything was loaded, Hop Sing rode off to the Chinese Quarter." Ben turned to Douglas. "That's Virginia City's Chinatown, marshal. Clem sent word with one of our hands that all went well. He'll be staying with Hop Sing and Betsy Ann until Crocker's no longer a threat."

"Chinese Quarter?"

The men turned to the staircase and the anxious voice coming from the landing. "All you told me was that she was safe. You said it was better if I didn't know exactly where she is. And now, I find out my daughter's with strangers in the Chinese Quarter?"

"Jess." Douglas struggled to hide his relief. "I-I believe Ben when he says your daughter's safe."

"I don't doubt Mr. Cartwright's intentions, but Betsy Ann's been through so much, and now, to be hidden away with people she doesn't know, people she can't even understand . . ." She descended the remaining stairs and crossed the room. "Douglas, please, take me to my little girl."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Opinions and demands descended upon Jessamine, and she stared with disbelief as each one was uttered. Loudest of all were the objections from Douglas and Adam, but it was Sheriff Coffee who quickly took charge and summarized them all.

"Quiet down! Everyone, quiet down!" Roy pressed his palms together and then steepled his fingers. "Mrs. Reid, I'm afraid I can't allow your request."

"But sheriff, I-"

Roy shook his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but the answer is no.

Jessamine brushed past Roy. "Douglas, you'll take me to her, won't you?"

"It's not safe, Jess."

Ben agreed with the lawmen. "They're right, Mrs. Reid. Your daughter was hidden and taken into Virginia City under the cloak of nightfall and along a back entrance used only by the residents of the Chinese Quarter."

"But-"

The tilt of Ben's head put an end to Jessamine's interruption. "From what Sheriff Coffee and Marshal Drake have told us, Crocker's not about to give up on the stolen, missing money. He's a ruthless man, Mrs. Reid. You and the marshal must know that. And Crocker's a smart, ruthless man. He could very well be on Ponderosa property as we speak."

"Listen to him, Jess," Douglas said. "As much as we all want you and Betsy Ann reunited, it's too big a risk to ride into Virginia City. If Crocker's watching, we'd be leading him right to Betsy Ann."

Adam couldn't help but add his opinion. "It'd be like putting a target on the both of you."

Jessamine turned away, wringing her hands and shaking her head. "You're right. You're all right." She turned again, pleading eyes trained on Douglas. "The deputy sent word that he and Betsy Ann arrived safely in Chinatown. But how will we know she's still safe? How will we know when it's safe for me to go to her?"

Sheriff Coffee stepped closer to Jessamine. "Deputy Foster will see to it that little Betsy Ann's all right, and he'll be sure to send word as often as he feels it's safe. Now, I'm gonna take Sammy, here, and we'll join the rest of the posse searchin' the Ponderosa for Jubal Crocker. Drake, you need to tend to that arm and get yourself a little rest." Roy turned toward the hearth. "I'd like to take two more along. That'd leave three here with Mrs. Reid."

Hoss started for the door. "Count me in, Roy."

"Me, too," Joe said.

"Ben, you'll take care of the marshal?"

"Of course, Roy."

"You and Adam be careful. Your men are out there, but the Ponderosa's an awful big place. Hunting down two men, well, it won't be easy." He sighed. "All right, then. Let's get out there and stop Jubal Crocker."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A young widow just naturally had obstacles to overcome. Jessamine had spent the past year working to conquer her fears. In the evenings, she'd been able to restrain herself from checking and rechecking locked doors. In the black of night, she'd managed to silence the hushed voices in a coyote's eerie call. And in the mornings, the endless mornings, she'd learned to wear a smile and greet her daughter with cheerful words.

That night, the irony of her situation was both terrifying and comical. The house was protected, three capable men nearby and more outside, guarding the house and the trails leading in. She knew it should make her feel safe – safer than she'd felt since her husband's death. But she felt afraid, and that fear would thrive until her daughter was in her arms.

But fear festers, grows, sometimes, until it becomes strength. And as Jessamine lay cloaked in the comfort of the bed, her fears swelled and her doubt vanished. She tossed the quilt aside and hung her legs from the bed. Although anxiety made her fumble, she laced her boots, gathered her reticule and cape, and tread softly through the hallway and down the stairs. In the moonlit room, she hurried to the credenza and helped herself to a pistol.

When Oliver and Jessamine had settled in their home, he'd been relentless in his attempts to teach her how about guns. She'd refused time and time again, yielding only when coyotes moved in to rob the Reids of their chickens.

That evening, when she slid Adam's revolver into the waistband of her skirt, Jessamine thought of those coyotes, and of Jubal Crocker. She lifted the front door latch, unbolted the door, and stepped into the warm night air.

Jessamine shivered. She drew the hood of her cape up over her head and dashed across the yard and into the barn.

"Easy now," she said, patting the horse in the nearest stall. "We're going for a little ride."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jessamine looked around, smiling when she spied a lantern and a matchbox on a cabinet shelf. She lit the wick, quickly dimmed the flame, and lifted the lantern, searching the walls for the tack she needed. Grabbing the first bridle she saw, Jessamine slung it over her shoulder and returned to the horse's stall.

Speaking just above a whisper, she calmed the animal as she slipped the bridle over his head. "Easy boy. I know it's late, and you probably thought you were settled in for the night, but I need to get to my daughter, and you're going to take me there."

"No, he isn't."

Jessamine froze. Her pulse pounded in her neck. She raised her head slowly as she turned, and she sighed when Douglas stepped into the flickering lantern light.

"You scared me within an inch of my life! I thought you were-"

"Crocker." He moved to her, grasped her arm, and marched her toward the barn door. "And what if I had been?" Stopping just inside, he twisted her, pulling her closer to him. He winced, the movement tugging at his injury. "Crocker's a killer. No, he's a desperate killer. And that combination makes anyone he comes into contact with expendable. Especially if they don't have what he's looking for!"

"Or **do** you have what he's looking for?"

Startled, Jess looked over her shoulder. Her shoulders drooped when she saw Adam standing in the doorway.

He stepped further into the barn. "You gave in too easily this evening. The marshal and I figured you'd try something."

"You were watching me?"

Adam admired Jessamine's attempt at skirting the issue, but lurking in the barn in the middle of the night with Jubal Crocker on the loose curbed his sense of humor. "Watching you? No. Hearing you? Yes. Seeing you? That's exactly what Crocker might do if we don't get you back inside the house!"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that."

With lightning speed, Adam spun, dropped to one knee, and drew his gun. In the same instant, Douglas shoved Jessamine to the ground and leveled his pistol at the shadow in the doorway.

"Go ahead, shoot. You'll get me," Crocker said, "and before I go down, Marty will get the lovely Mrs. Reid. Now, throw 'em over there."

Two guns hit the dirt.

Adam got to his feet and moved closer to Douglas.

Crocker pulled back on the trigger and grinned. "It seems that the marshal and his friend, here, weren't the only ones keeping an eye on you this evening, Mrs. Reid." He paused, glaring at Jessamine, still lying on the floor. "My money's missing, and someone knows where it is. I aim to get it. And in case shooting these two isn't incentive enough, I have a little surprise for you."

Crocker took two steps to the left.

Ben, barefoot, a bloodied nightshirt clinging to his chest, stood in the moonlit doorway.

"Pa!"

Ben lunged into the barn, propelled by a thrust from gun-toting Marty.

Crocker grinned as Ben tripped and fell, nearly landing on Jessamine.

"Mr. Cartwright," she said as she reached for his arm, "what have they done?"

"What we've done to the illustrious Ben Cartwright is less than we did to those hands out on the road, isn't that right, Marty?"

"That's right." Marty moved closer to Ben and Jessamine, looking them over in the lantern light.

"Quit gawkin' at the lady and tie those two up!"

Marty took one last look at Ben's injuries before hunting around the barn for a length of rope.

Brandishing his gun, Crocker waved Adam and Douglas to the post at the opening of the empty stall. "You, on that side! On the dirt, both of you!"

Adam and Douglas did as they were told, sitting on the ground, their backs against the post. Marty crouched and waited for Adam to press his wrists together. As he wound the rope, Marty glared at Adam.

**_Why is he looking at me that way?_**

Marty flashed his eyes from Adam to Crocker and back before scooting toward Douglas.

Adam felt the rope tugging as he was tied against the post. When Marty stood, Adam twisted his hands, and his pulse suddenly raced. The rope binding him and Douglas yielded, and Adam chanced a glance at Douglas. The marshal knew, as well.

"Now," Crocker said, "get Mrs. Reid on her off the ground!"

Marty grabbed Jessamine's arm and yanked her to her feet.

She struggled. "What are you going to do?"

Crocker grinned. "I told you, I'm going to get my money." He moved to Ben, lying unconscious on the ground. Aiming his pistol at Ben, Crocker smirked. "I'm going to ask you a question, and if I don't like the answer, I'm gonna shoot this old man in the head."


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Adam clenched his bound fists. Jessamine's answer to Crocker's question was foremost in his mind. Lives depended on it, and the life that concerned him most at that moment was his father's.

In the short time since he'd met her, Adam found Jessamine to be pleasant, intelligent, and hiding something. The money Crocker buried hadn't vanished into thin air, and Adam wondered if the lovely Mrs. Reid knew more than she'd let on.

Still, every time she spoke of Betsy Ann, Adam felt she was nothing but sincere and honest, and he knew in his gut she'd do anything for the daughter she loved with all her heart.

She stood now before Crocker, Marty holding her forearm, the cloth of her cape the only thing between her fingers and the concealed pistol. Crocker stepped closer, his gun still aimed at Ben.

"I'm going to ask you once," he said, his eyes trained on Jessamine. "I expect an answer, the right answer. Or he gets a bullet to the head." He hesitated, savoring the panic on Jessamine's face. "Where is my money?"

She couldn't seem to pull her eyes from Crocker's gaze. She thought of Adam, and that she had yet to properly thank him for saving Betsy Ann's life. She pictured Ben, lying on the ground, his face bruised, a gash at his right temple. She hadn't considered that a kind stranger could give his life for her. And she thought of Douglas, a man she barely knew, a man who'd slipped into her heart, filling a void left behind by Oliver's death.

And still, as Crocker held Jessamine prisoner with his glaring eyes, the gun in her waistband was the last thing on her mind. Until, that is, Marty pushed against her forearm, forcing her hand against the weapon.

Jessamine's breath caught in her throat, and she curled her fingers beneath her cape and wrapped them around the grip of the gun.

"Well?" Crocker shouted.

Jerking at his tone, Jessamine looked down at Douglas and Adam. Something in their expressions spoke to her, and she questioned them with her eyes.

Crocker grew impatient. He grabbed her shoulders. "Do I shoot him, or do you tell me where the money is?"

She gripped the gun tightly, beads of sweat forming on her forehead. "I . . . The money . . ."

"Spit it out, bitch! Where is my-"

"Now!" Adam shouted.

Douglas sprang to his feet, ready to shove Jessamine to the safety of a corner. Adam flew at Crocker, intent on knocking the gun from his hand. Jessamine pulled the gun from her waistband and aimed it at Crocker's chest. Two deafening shots echoed through the barn.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Moments later, Roy Coffee and his posse rode into the front of the Ponderosa. They'd heard the shots as they'd rounded the bend just before the house, and as they gathered, pistols drawn, in front of the barn, Roy breathed a gasp of disbelief.

Lying on the ground was Ben Cartwright, his head held gently in Adam's hand. In the corner sat Jessamine, Marshal Douglas holding her as she sobbed against his chest. Sprawled on the ground was Jubal Crocker, his lifeless eyes staring at nothingness. And next to Crocker was Marty, blood pouring from the gunshot to his belly.

Roy watched as Marty pushed his chest off the ground, the dying man desperate to see Crocker's face.

"You miserable bastard!" Marty spat. "If I have to die today, at least I know I took you with me!"

Before Roy could reach him, a gurgling sound spewed from Marty's mouth. He choked, and then collapsed atop Crocker's chest.

Satisfied the threat was gone, Roy turned his attention to Ben. "Adam?"

"We need a doctor, Roy. Pa's unconscious. A head injury."

Roy turned to the posse, now gathered inside the barn. "You two, the Farley boys, head to town. Fetch Doc Martin and then go to the Chinese Quarter. Tell Deputy Foster all's clear and he can bring little Betsy Ann back to the Ponderosa."

Jessamine perked at the mention of her daughter's name. "My little girl? Are you sure it's safe?"

Douglas helped her to her feet, shielding her from the bodies on the ground. "Crocker's dead, Jess. And so is-"

"Marty," she said softly. "Oh, Douglas, in the end, he helped me. I'd forgotten about the gun, Adam's gun, that I'd taken from the house. Marty, he-"

"I know." Douglas ushered Jessamine out of the barn. "When Marty tied Adam and me, he left the ropes loose enough that we were able to get our hands free."

"You mean . . .?"

"That's right. Marty saved us all."

Just then, Adam and two of the posse came from the barn carrying Ben.

"Oh, Adam," Jessamine said. "Your father has to be all right!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Adam quickly settled his father into the bed, and as he drew the quilt up over Ben's chest, the men from the posse whispered their thoughts as they left the room.

Downstairs, Roy led Douglas and Jessamine to the guest room where Betsy Ann had been staying. Still shaken, Jessamine inspected the room, and she sighed and wavered when she saw a tiny pair of cream-colored stockings Betsy Ann had left behind.

Douglas steadied her, his hands at her waist.

"I need to sit down."

He walked her to a chair, positioning a fluffy pillow at the chair's curved back.

Jessamine sat staring ahead, tears pooling, her hands trembling. "I . . . I killed a man."

"You stopped a monster. There's a difference."

"No! No there isn't!" Tears streaked her face with every blink.

Douglas knelt in front of her. Her stare frightened him. "He was going to kill us all, Jess."

"He was there, alive, breathing! And then, I-I . . . He's dead!"

Douglas cupped her face in his hands. "Look at me, Jess."

It was as if her eyes were fixed on an invisible demon, and in the moment, that demon was Jessamine, herself.

"Jess, Jubal Crocker murdered the Delgados. Your friends."

She barely moved.

"He murdered those three men guarding the Ponderosa, and who knows how many more victims lay in graves because of that madman?"

"But-"

"No 'buts' Jess. He would have murdered Adam and Ben and me and you and even his own man, Marty!"

"But I-"

"Jess, listen to me! He would have gone after Betsy Ann!"

Jessamine gasped. She held her breath, and the only thing that freed her were the sobs that landed against Douglas's chest.

"That's it," he said softly, his hand stroking her back. "Let it out."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Thank you, Cousin Number Six." Betsy Ann waved as the buggy pulled away from the Chinese Quarter shack. In the two days since she'd arrived, she'd taken a liking to all of Hop Sing's relatives and friends. They'd treated her very well, introducing her to new foods and interesting customs. She ate fish prepared in many ways, and Cousin Number Six was delighted when she managed to use her chop sticks without dropping one bite. The rice she'd eaten for the very first time, and Hop Sing had told her it was a special treat as it was not readily available in Virginia City.

She'd slept on the floor atop a thin blanket, and Hop Sing had lain beside her, barely sleeping, always alert for signs of Jubal Crocker or his men. Cousin Number Six, an elderly man of sixty, slept on a low, hard mattress, and Hop Sing told Betsy Ann that revered elders always slept this way.

Hop Sing's family had filled Betsy Ann's days with chores. Cousin Number Five filled a basin with warm water and showed her how to wash the wooden bowls and set them on a drying rack. Betsy Ann took her instructions to heart, although she always helped her mother with their dishes back home.

Betsy Ann even helped with cleaning the day's catch of fish, and both Hop Sing and Clem stood by diligently as she set the fresh fillets into the soaking brine and carefully carried the container into the kitchen.

Besides Hop Sing, Betsy Ann favored spending time with Deputy Clem, and more than once, Hop Sing observed her mimicking the lawman's movements.

And now, as the buggy rolled onto Virginia City's main street, Betsy Ann scooted closer to Clem and clung to his arm.

"You remember what I told you, Betsy Ann? The bad man can't ever scare you or your mama again."

"You promise?"

Clem slipped his arm behind her back. "I sure do. Isn't that right, Hop Sing?"

"Deputy Clem not lie to Little Missy. Bad men go away. Little Missy and mama no worry again! Go see mama now."

Betsy Ann slid back to the middle of the seat. She lowered her head, her lip pouting slightly, and reached out and took one hand of each of the men she trusted.

Clem glanced at Hop Sing, and they both shrugged. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Mama's gonna be angry with me. I didn't tell Mrs. Delgado or Mr. Delgado where I was going. I just left. And Mama will be mad at me for worrying everyone." She turned her doe eyes up at Clem. "If I tell the Delgados that I'm real, real, sorry, do you think Mama will stop being angry?"

Clem wanted only to shrivel and disappear. The news of the Delgados' murder would have to come from Jessamine. He glanced, again, at Hop Sing. The Chinaman shook his head fiercely, and Clem took a deep breath and sighed. He cupped the back of Betsy Ann's head, leaned closer, and said softly, "I promise, your Mama is going to be very, very glad to see you."


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Young Paul Martin studied harder than anyone believed possible. The desire to call himself a physician had nothing to do with his determination. It was his yearning to help people that kept him going when others surrendered to the pressure. Never a man to mince words, Paul often found himself looking into the face of shocked family members and patients, as well. After several months of practicing medicine, Paul quickly developed a gentle bedside manner – especially when speaking to his patients' loved ones. Ben Cartwright was more than Paul's patient, and over the years, the Cartwrights had become Paul's family.

"One of the blows he received was severe. The sooner he wakes up, the better."

Joe paled. "Doc, my pa, is he-"

"His pulse is strong, his pupils look good, and besides," he cupped Joe's shoulder in his hand, "your father's the strongest man I know. Now, how about making some coffee. I'm sure we can all use a cup right about now."

Joe nodded, and after one more look at his father, he left the room and headed for the kitchen.

Hoss stepped closer to his father's bed. "Doc, you really think he'll be all right?"

Paul adjusted the quilt covering his patient. "Hoss, your pa has more reason to wake up than any man I know."

Hoss's smile lacked belief, but he nodded and settled into the chair in the corner of the room. He laced his fingers and set his hands in his lap, his eyes closely following his pacing, older brother.

Paul recognized the eldest Cartwright's suffering. "It's not your fault, Adam."

Hoss shifted to the edge of the chair.

Just short of his father's stately, pine dresser, Adam stopped abruptly, his voice an angry whisper. "I should never have left him alone in the house." He reached for the frame that held his mother's portrait. "I knew Crocker would be coming." Carefully, he placed the frame back into its exact spot and clenched his teeth. "I've met men like him before. Men who use one person to intimidate another. He did it with Betsy Ann. A child!" He turned and headed for the door. "I should have known he'd wait until one of us was alone."

Hoss jumped to his feet and blocked the doorway. "Ain't nobody's fault, Adam. Nobody 'cept Jubal Crocker."

Adam brushed past Hoss. At least, he tried to.

"Adam, it ain't right, you believin' you should be able to think like the likes of Jubal Crocker. He was one step ahead of all of us, killin' all those innocent people and scaring that little gal. You aren't like him, Adam, so you shouldn't blame yourself for not thinkin' like him."

"He's right, son."

Although Paul was closer, Adam beat him to Ben's side.

"If you're blaming yourself," Ben said weakly, "then I have to blame myself, too." He reached for the right side of his head, and he winced as his fingertips grazed the still-swelling lump.

"Ben," Paul said, "you've got a concussion. Take it slow and easy."

Ben shrugged off Paul's hand. "I was a damn fool to let my guard down long enough for those two to bushwhack me in my own home."

"Pa's right."

"You see, Adam," Ben sat up, and with Paul's help, propped himself against the headboard, "even your brother thinks I was a damn fool."

"Pa, that ain't what . . . I didn't mean . . ."

Adam did nothing to hide his smirk.

"Hoss, I know what you meant to say." Ben flinched as he turned his head toward Adam. "All that matters now is Crocker's never going to hurt anyone again."

Just then, Joe appeared in the doorway. A smile of relief blossomed, and he placed the tray of coffee and cups atop the dresser and rushed to his father's bedside. "Pa, you're awake."

As Joe leaned against the bed, Ben wrapped his fingers around Joe's hand.

"Is that coffee I smell?"

Joe patted his father's arm and soon, everyone had enjoyed a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

Hoss stood at the bedroom window, still sipping from his cup. Joe and Adam retreated to the corner as once again, Paul examined their father.

"You're going to have to take it easy for a few days, Ben. Your ribs are bruised, and I'm not sure what they hit you over the head with, but you won't be wearing your hat for at least a week."

Ben reached up and skimmed the lump on the side of his head. "Must've used an anvil."

Hoss sputtered his coffee and Joe and Adam chuckled aloud.

"Whatever it was," Paul said as he snapped his medical bag shut, "you're lucky, my friend. A little to the left, and your hearing might have been affected A little to the right and you could have been blinded in that eye."

"Blinded?" Joe's voice was panicked. "Pa, you can see all right, can't you?"

"Yes, Joseph, I can see just fine."

"Well, so can I," Hoss said, "and what I see is a buggy comin' into the yard."

Adam hurried to the window and pulled the curtain further aside. "It's them."

"Them?" Ben asked.

Adam set his cup on the tray and disappeared through the bedroom door.

"It's Hop Sing, Clem, and Betsy Ann," Hoss said.

Ben smiled and nodded, the reunion playing out in his mind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Douglas heard the approaching buggy. He stared down at Jessamine, exhausted, asleep, and very beautiful. Gently, he brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

"Jess. Jess, honey. You need to wake up."

"Hm? Wha . . . ." Foggy, Jessamine bolted upright, pushing her quilt toward the bottom of the bed. "How long was I asleep?"

Douglas steadied her by her shoulders. "Only a few minutes."

"But you insisted I get some rest, and-she's here? My little's girl's here!"

As she got up, it was all Douglas could do to keep Jessamine steady on her feet. Barefoot, she burst through the bedroom door, leaving him several steps behind.

"Mama!" Betsy Ann cried, letting go of Hop Sing's hand as she sprinted to her mother.

Adam watched from the staircase as Jessamine dropped to her knees, nearly falling backward as Betsy Ann fell into her arms.

"Oh, sweetheart, are you all right? I've missed you so much!"

"I'm okay, Mama. Hop Sing and Deputy Clem took real good care of me. I got to stay with Cousin Number Six and . . . ."

Betsy Ann stepped back from her mother. "Mama, I'm sorry I did bad things. I shouldn't've run away. I know I worried you and I shouldn't've touched the wagon man's gun 'cause Papa taught me better and I frightened Mister and Missus Delgado and I need to apologize to them-"

"Betsy Ann," Jessamine said softly, lifting her daughter onto the living room settee, "sweetheart, you're right. You should not have run away."

"I know Mama, and-"

"Sh." Jessamine knelt in front of Betsy Ann. "You made mistakes, and I did, too, sweetheart."

Betsy Ann lowered her eyes and shook her head. "Mamas don't make mistakes. Just little girls."

Adam descended to the living room, Betsy Ann's tone tugging at his heart.

Jessamine tucked a finger under her daughter's chin. "Mamas do make mistakes." She sat next to Betsy Ann. "When you told me there was a bad man at our ranch, I did what I thought was the right thing. I brought the sheriff. But he didn't find the man. You remember?"

"Yes, Mama. And then that nice deputy stayed with us for two whole days. But he didn't see the bad man, either."

"That's right," Jessamine agreed. "But, Betsy Ann, I should have been more vigilant."

"More vigi . . . vigil . . .What?"

Adam rubbed his lips, hiding his amusement.

"Vigilant." Jessamine stroked her daughter's hair. "It means I should have listened more carefully and watched more closely. If I had, I would have known the man was still coming around." She shuddered. "Still scaring you." Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. "I should have-"

"Betsy Ann, My name is Marshal Drake."

"Hello."

Jessamine smiled.

"I'm sure Deputy Clem has told you," Douglas said, "the bad man won't ever hurt you or your mother again."

"Yes, sir, he did."

Adam couldn't help but notice that no matter the circumstances, Betsy Ann was polite. In the sort time he'd known her, the little girl had touched a place in him he'd never known existed. And as he watched Douglas and Jessamine comfort and reassure her, he began to see their bond strengthening, and he felt emptiness deep inside. He'd never considered Betsy Ann becoming part of the Cartwright household, but now, seeing Jessamine and Douglas together, Adam was sure Betsy Ann had a new father in her future.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Exploring the Ponderosa with Adam, Hoss, and Joe kept Betsy Ann busy for the next two days. Although he fought her every step of the way, Jessamine did her best to see to it that Douglas allowed his wound to heal, and she tended to Ben, as well, despite Hop Sing's protests.

Douglas had seen to it that the Reid ranch would be in order upon their return – all evidence of the gruesome murders and hostage situation had been taken care of by the sheriff and deputy of Carson City.

Roy and Clem had done the same in the Cartwright barn, assuring that Betsy Ann would never again lay eyes on anything connected to Jubal Crocker or his men.

Ben knew the day was fast approaching when Betsy Ann would leave the Ponderosa. Adam had fallen in love with the little girl from the moment he first saw her in the make-shift tent, and Ben wondered if Adam's resentment of Jessamine still festered.

That question was set aside when, one morning, the sheriff of Carson City showed up at the Ponderosa.


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

"I'm Sheriff Mason from Carson City. I understand Jessamine Reid is staying here. I'd like to speak with her."

Ben noted the lawman's rigid manner. "I'm afraid Mrs. Reid isn't here at the moment. She should be back in an hour or so. You're welcome to wait."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. If you're sure it isn't an inconvenience, I will wait."

Ben stepped aside as the sheriff entered the house. "Please, have a seat. May I offer you some coffee? You've had a long ride. Maybe you'd like something to eat?"

Sheriff Mason smiled, and Ben felt more at ease. But a voice in his head echoed a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to - what did the sheriff want with Jessamine? Ben had a sinking feeling the missing money was the topic of the visit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Please, Marshal Drake, can I hold the reins? Hoss taught me how, and Little Joe said I was a quick learner."

Douglas eyed Jess, hoping to find the answer in her expression.

"Betsy Ann," Jessamine said, "I think you're a bit too young to drive the buggy into the yard."

"But Mama-"

Douglas cleared his throat loudly. "How about a compromise?"

Betsy Ann scrunched her nose. "What's a compromise?"

"Well," Douglas said, "a compromise is when two or more people find a way to work together to do something."

Betsy Ann hung on the marshal's every word.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. But how do we compromise about me holding the reins?"

Jessamine cocked her head and smiled mischievously at Douglas. "Yes, marshal, how do we compromise?"

"Well, what if Betsy Ann and I both hold the reins? If she'll just hop onto my lap and take the reins, I'll put my hands around hers. Now, you'll be driving the buggy, Betsy Ann, but my hands will be right there in case the horse gives you any trouble."

Betsy Ann grinned and scurried onto Douglas' lap. "I like compromise." But her enthusiasm faded when she turned to her mother. "Mama, do you like our compromise?"

Jessamine found the reassurance she needed on Douglas' face. He seemed to know her daughter's safety was even more precious than before. She smiled. "Yes, honey, I do like your compromise."

Douglas placed the reins in Betsy's small hands, and then hovered his own hands near hers.

"Good girl," Betsy Ann called. "Take us to the house nice and easy." Grinning, she glanced up at her mother. "Hoss says this mare likes it when you talk real gentle to her."

"Typical female." Douglas regretted his tease the moment it left his lips. His regret didn't stop Jessamine from thumping his arm.

"Douglas Drake!" Jessamine did her best to feign shock, but Douglas' wide-eyed innocence and Betsy Ann's enthusiasm soon had them all laughing and enjoying the remainder of the ride.

As the buggy entered the yard, Douglas took note of the unfamiliar horse tied at the post. Although Jubal Crocker no longer posed a threat, Douglas couldn't help his lawman's intuition – someone was waiting inside, and he couldn't shake the feeling that that someone was about to spoil their mood.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hoss and Adam had returned from the north corral, and after introductions, they'd listened intently to Sheriff Mason's information.

Over the course of an hour filled with questions and accusations, Ben's coffee had cooled beyond his taste, and still, he clung to the cup with both hands, his stomach churning.

Upon further investigation of the Pierson ranch, the sheriff had searched the room of Seth, the ranch hand. Hidden between the mattresses on Seth's bed, the sheriff found a ledger. Six pages of that ledger contained what appeared to be increasing dollar amounts, and at the top of the first page was the heading, Account of O.R.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"How dare you!" Jessamine glared at Sheriff Mason. One moment, she was enjoying a buggy ride with Douglas and her daughter, and the next, this stranger was spewing accusations about her beloved Oliver.

"Mama?" Betsy Ann cowered at her mother's side. "Is he a bad man?"

Jessamine pulled her daughter tightly against her. "He's a confused man, honey. Whether or not that makes him bad is yet to be seen. Betsy Ann, I think it best that you leave the room."

Adam dashed forward, scooped Betsy Ann into his arms, and then handed her to Hoss. "Take her out to the barn." Adam touched Betsy Ann's cheek with his fingertips. "You know how much Chubb likes it when a pretty little girl feeds him carrots."

Hoss nodded and started for the door. "Let's you and me feed ole Chubb, Betsy Ann. Would ya like that?"

"Yes, Hoss, but-"

The door closed, leaving Jessamine relieved and very angry.

Ben stepped between Carson City's sheriff and Jessamine. "Perhaps we should take a moment, let Mrs. Reid gather herself. She only just arrived after a long buggy ride, and-"

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright, but I don't even need one second to gather myself before telling this . . . this sheriff that my husband was not a bank robber and never in his life associated with the likes of Jubal Crocker!"

Douglas took hold of Jessamine's shoulders. "Take it easy, Jess. Sheriff Mason's just doing his job."

"Take it easy? How can you tell me to take it easy? He's calling Oliver a thief! He's-"

"Jess," Douglas said calmly, "do you trust me?"

Jessamine started to argue, but found herself lost in the serenity of his eyes. "Of course I do, but-"

"Then please, sit down." He led her to the settee, sat beside her, and took her hand in his. "Now, Sheriff Mason. May we see this ledger?"

Mason went to Ben's desk and retrieved the book. "I'm sorry to have upset you, Mrs. Reid." He handed the ledger to Douglas. "As I told Mr. Cartwright, and then his sons, I've compared the amounts in the ledger, and they match, dollar for dollar, date for date, to deposits made by the late Mr. Reid to his account in San Francisco."

Douglas felt Jessamine's grip tightening. He examined the opened page of the ledger, the facts shouting in his mind. As his eyes scanned the bottom of the page, Douglas cocked his head. "I see that the total is $15,000." Douglas released Jessamine's hand and pointed to the last ledger line. "The bank robbery yielded Crocker and his gang $20,000, correct?"

"Yes, that's correct," Mason said.

"Crocker was no fool, Sheriff Mason. He knew not to spend one dollar of that money. Serial numbers from stolen currency are circulated all over the country and watched. Spending any of that money would have brought the law down on them as quickly as a poorly hidden trail."

"The marshal's right," Adam said. "Sheriff Mason, how do you explain the missing money?"

Hope shone on Jessamine's face. That hope, however, was premature.

Mason hesitated, dreading the proverbial nail in the coffin. "On the day of their deaths, Sheriff Coffee and his deputy took the bodies of Jubal Crocker and Marty into Virginia City. Before they were buried on Boot Hill, the sheriff searched their belongings, including the clothes they were wearing."

Adam suddenly knew what the sheriff was about to say, and he looked away, his thoughts turning to the little girl who idolized her father.

Mason shifted uncomfortably. "Marty's inside coat pocket contained exactly $5,000."

Jessamine shook her head. "I don't understand."

"I can't be completely sure, Mrs. Reid, but Sheriff Coffee and I spoke and we agree that it's most likely that Marty is the one who found the box at the Pierson ranch. We figure that while Crocker searched elsewhere in the house, Marty killed Seth, then shot the lock off the box and found the ledger and the $5,000 inside. I reckon Marty had no intention of telling Crocker."

Jessamine jumped to her feet. "I don't care if those two animals were cheating one another! I'm telling you, Sheriff Mason, my husband was not a bank robber! He was not part of Crocker's gang! And I don't care if you or anyone else believe me." She pounded her hand against her chest. "Betsy Ann and I are the only ones who matter, and I know in my heart that Oliver had nothing to do with the robbery!"

"Mrs. Reid," Sheriff Mason said, "I never said your husband had anything to do with Crocker or the bank robbery. I'm simply trying to determine if the money he'd been depositing over those months was indeed the money belonging to the bank."

Douglas reached for Jessamine and gently pushed her toward Ben's comforting arms. "Sheriff, I might be able to shed some light on this. I know that Betsy Ann and her father used to go to Paiute Bluff to explore and spend time together."

Mason listened impatiently.

"I also know the Pierson's ranch hand, Seth, used to join them from time to time."

"Marshal, just what are you getting at?"

"I don't believe for one minute that Oliver Reid was part of Crocker's gang. But what if, on one of their outings to Paiute Bluff, Oliver Reid discovered the buried box?"

"I suppose," Mason said, "it's possible that he found the box. But if that's the case, it's clear that Oliver didn't report it to the proper authorities, and it's also clear he intended to keep the money for himself."

Douglas had succeeded in raising doubt as to Oliver's guilt, but now, he'd led the discussion full circle. It appeared that Oliver Reid had found and kept the stolen money.


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Jess, please, calm down."

"Calm down? Douglas, I refuse to sit here and listen to accusations about Oliver! I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for the money in his San Francisco account, and I intend to find that explanation and put an end to this hurtful-"

"Mama! Mama!" A gush of wind swept into the living room as Betsy Ann flung the front door open. "Hoss is hurt!"

Although Sheriff Mason was closest to the door, it was Adam who first reached Hoss and ushered him into the house.

The injured Cartwright son found himself immediately surrounded by his father and brothers, and he shrugged-off their concerns, insisting the gash on his arm was of no concern.

"Hoss, would you hold still?" Ben insisted, leaning in closely to inspect the wound.

"Aw, Pa, it ain't but a scratch."

"Yeah, well, the scratch deep and long and full of specks of dirt and bits of straw." Ben released Hoss's arm. "We'd best get that cleaned up right away."

"I'm sorry you got hurt, Hoss." Betsy Ann tugged on her mother's skirt. "Mama, I climbed up in the loft 'cause that's where the mama cat hides her kittens and I bumped into something and it fell and hit Hoss's arm and he grabbed it and made a face and then helped me down from the loft so I wouldn't fall." She looked up at Jessamine. "Mama, you always make my ouches feel better. You reckon you can take care of Hoss? Please, Mama?"

Hoss blushed and shook his head. "It ain't nothin'-"

"I'm sure I can tend to it, Betsy Ann." Ben said. "Your mother, Marshal Drake, and Sheriff Mason still have a few things to, uh, to discuss."

Immediately, Douglas drew Ben's eye. "I think Mrs. Reid could use a break from our discussion, don't you, Mr. Cartwright? After all, Betsy Ann says she's the best with ouches."

"Really," Hoss persisted, "I can take care of it myself. It ain't nothin' but a-"

"Son, I think Betsy Ann and Marshal Drake are both right."

"But, Pa-"

"Mrs. Reid," Ben urged her closer to Hoss, "if you and Betsy Ann will take Hoss to the kitchen, I'm sure you'll find everything you need to clean and bandage his arm."

"But, Pa, I can-" The look on his father's face was one he'd seen far too often. Hoss swallowed hard. "Mrs. Reid, ma'am," Hoss said, his most convincing puppy dog face in full blossom, "I sure would appreciate you takin' a look at this scrat-uh, I mean, this here nasty gash."

Jessamine smiled. "Of course, Hoss." She looked over her shoulder as she and Betsy Ann escorted Hoss toward the kitchen. "Sheriff Mason," she said sternly, "we'll continue this discussion when I return."

The moment Jessamine was out of earshot, Douglas waved the others over to Ben's desk. With a lowered voice, Douglas delivered his interpretation of the situation. "Sheriff Mason, the only way to prove the money in Oliver Reid's account is the same money Jubal Crocker stole and buried is to compare the recorded serial numbers. Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"And seeing as how it will take several days for clarification of those numbers, you really have no reason to further question Mrs. Reid. Isn't that right?"

Mason took a deep, resigning breath. "Well, I suppose-"

"Good, we're in agreement."

Mason leaned forward and pressed his palms against Ben's desk. "No, Marshal Drake, we are not in agreement. Money was stolen by Jubal Crocker, and in a fashion, that same money was then stolen from him. Crocker's dead, and he can't be held accountable for the bank robbery. But there is someone who will be held accountable for not turning that money over to the proper authorities."

Adam shook his head, a sarcastic smile creeping over his lips. "You can't arrest a dead man, sheriff."

Mason glared at Adam. "You're right, Mr. Cartwright. I can't arrest a dead man." He turned to face Douglas. "But I **_can_** arrest anyone who concealed the whereabouts of the stolen money."

Around Ben's desk, all hell broke loose. Though his face carried the same angry disbelief, Ben quickly slipped between Sheriff Mason and the three other enraged men.

"Keep your voices down!" Ben's whisper was growled. He raised an accusatory finger. "There's a little girl in there who's been terrorized by a monster, and we'd do better to stop acting like monsters ourselves!"

Mason squared his shoulders, and Ben took a step closer, their eyes locked in defiance.

"Now, Sheriff Mason, I believe you have some numbers to verify."

Mason considered the odds in the room. "Very well." He started for the door, stopped suddenly, and turned. "Before I left Carson City, I initiated an injunction. Please inform Mrs. Reid that her late husband's San Francisco account is inaccessible. And if the serial numbers match, well, she may want to use this time to make arrangements for her daughter."

Had it not been for Adam and Joe, Marshal Douglas Drake would have found himself in the Virginia City Jail. As they restrained him, Ben wasted no time in ushering the sheriff out of the house.

"Let me go!" Douglas spat through clenched teeth.

"Believe me," Adam said as they struggled, "I'd like to!"

"I will if you will," Joe added.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," Ben warned as he latched the front door. "You know very well that Sheriff Mason is only doing his job." He extended his arm, inviting them into the living room, and reluctantly, Adam, Joe, and Douglas followed his silent suggestion.

Douglas paced the rug in front of the hearth. "I don't believe for one moment that Jessamine knew anything about that money or her husband's San Francisco bank deposits."

Joe sat on the settee, rested elbows against his thighs, and rubbed his fists together. "You have to admit, it sure looks like Oliver found that money and made the decision to keep it."

"I have to agree with both of you," Adam said. "Marshal, just where does the law stand in a case like this?"

Douglas's face was grim. He ran his hand through his hair. "It all comes down to proof. Let's assume the serial numbers match. That ranch hand, Seth, could have testified that Jessamine knew nothing about what Oliver was doing with the money. That might have been enough to absolve her of any charges. But with Seth and Oliver both dead, it'll most likely come down to Jessamine's word, and that may not be enough."

"What may not be enough?" Jessamine asked as she rounded the corner from the kitchen.

The moment's silence that followed seemed to last forever.

Jessamine glanced around the room and peered over at Ben's desk. "Where's Sheriff Mason? Douglas? What did I miss?"


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Joe offered Betsy Ann an afternoon of watching the horses in the south corral, and the moment her daughter was out of earshot, Jessamine demanded answers. The task of keeping her calm quickly fell into Douglas's lap.

"Jess, please, sit down and try to relax."

"Relax?" She threw her hands in the air. "I suppose you could relax if someone was accusing you and your hus-your wife of bank robbery!"

Douglas reached for her, and she pulled away.

"And those deposits. Sheriff Mason thinks I knew about them, that I kept stolen money, money that belonged, that **_still_** belongs to someone!"

"Jess, I don't believe for one minute that you knew about the stolen money."

"I appreciate that, Douglas, but you're not the one I need to convince. That . . . that sheriff believes the worst of Oliver, and of me! Why, the mere notion that Oliver kept company with a man like Crocker makes me . . ." She steadied herself against the arm of the settee.

Douglas insisted that she sit, and Ben was quick to offer brandy to everyone in the room.

"Jess, while you were in the kitchen tending to Hoss," Douglas said, "Sheriff Mason seemed to retract that accusation."

"I don't understand."

"When Mason left, his thinking was that Oliver found the money long after Crocker buried it at Paiute Bluff."

The obvious hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, Jessamine studied Douglas's eyes. The time had come for painful realization.

"So, my husband wasn't a bank robber after all? Instead, he was a thief? Is that what you're all thinking?" Bolting to her feet, she hyperventilated as tears filled her eyes. "There's not much difference be-between being a member of Ju-Ju-Jubal C-Crocker's gang and . . . Oh, Oliver," she covered her face with shaking hands, "how could you?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ben Cartwright had sent for Jacob Long, Esquire, on numerous occasions. Being the attorney for one of the wealthiest men in the territory meant those summonses were lucrative. But money had quickly become secondary to protecting his client, and that loyalty led to Jacob becoming Ben's trusted friend - that and the openness they shared which allowed them to say exactly what was on their minds.

"Jacob, I believe Jessamine Reid is a victim in this . . . this mess." Ben stood, anxiously pacing behind his desk. "Not only was her daughter terrorized by Jubal Crocker, but she herself was taken prisoner by the man."

Jacob sat forward in his chair. "I hear what you're saying, Ben," he said calmly, "and while I agree with what you've said, it does not address the issue which could potentially land Mrs. Reid in jail."

Ben fixed his fists on his hips. "Well, then, suppose you address said issue. After all, that's what I pay you for."

Jacob huffed, barely containing a smile. He enjoyed going toe to toe with Ben. "What you pay me for is my intelligence, my research, and my expertise."

Slowly, Ben pressed his hands against the desk. "Don't forget your hourly fee."

Jacob's grin faded quickly. "Ben, I know you, and I can see how much you want to help Mrs. Reid."

Ben sat heavily into his chair. "We met Betsy Ann before we met her mother. Jacob, when Adam found that little girl, she was hurt, cold and hungry, and running from Jubal Crocker. He'd terrorized her for weeks, threatened her and her mother."

"You care about her. A lot."

Ben nodded. "We all do." He leaned forward. "That's why you're here. That little girl's been through too much. The thought of her losing her mother . . . Jacob, you've always been straight with me. What is Jessamine facing here?"

Jacob folded his hands and put his thoughts in order. Ben waited patiently.

"Assuming Mrs. Reid is being forthright, all deposits made to her late husband's San Francisco account were made by Oliver, himself."

"That's right."

"Assuming no one at the bank will contradict Mrs. Reid's claim, and no other witnesses step forward to testify in this regard, any prosecutor would be unable to prove Mrs. Reid knew about the deposits."

"That's right."

"Ben, do you know if Oliver Reid ever filed a last will and testament?"

"I don't know. We can ask Jessamine when she wakes from her nap." Ben wrinkled his brow. "What are you thinking?"

"Ben, if Oliver had a will leaving his property and assets to his widow, and those serial numbers match-"

Ben slapped his hand against the desk. "Now, hold on a minute, Jacob. Are you saying that by leaving that money to his wife, Oliver implicated her in some way?"

"I'm afraid so, Ben." It was Jacob's turn to stand and pace. After three passes, he stopped, suddenly, and snapped his fingers. "If the serial numbers match, the money was never Oliver's to will."

"You mean . . ."

"All I have to do is provide reasonable doubt that Jess knew about the money in the first place."

"If she knew nothing about it, and it can't be hers via the will, then-"

"Then the government claims the money or even better, Mrs. Reid simply renounces any attempt to claim it in the first place."

Ben breathed a sigh of relief. "You've earned your fee, as usual, Jacob. You'll stay, won't you, until she wakes up? It should come from her lawyer."

"Of course, I'll stay, Ben. But there is one thing you may be overlooking."

"What? That you'll bill me for as long as she sleeps?"

Jacob's expression was sobering. "No, Ben."

"Well, what the devil are you talking about?"

"As far as the legalities of this mess, as you called it, things are looking up for Mrs. Reid. But, in the long run, how will she get over what appears to be the fact that her husband found $20,000 in stolen money and decided to keep it for his family?"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The time Jacob Long spent interviewing Jessamine Reid had yielded information necessary to proving reasonable doubt. In addition, it had given Jacob the opportunity to form his own conclusion – Jessamine was indeed innocent.

The next two days were filled with long buggy rides, note-taking, organization, and several satisfying meals at the Ponderosa.

On the third day, the dining table was alive with discussion and laughter, and Hop Sing grinned as he carried a tray displaying a large chocolate cake, its vanilla icing adorned with red piped letters.

The song started with Adam, and everyone quickly joined in. Betsy Ann, seated between Adam and Hoss, beamed with delight as the song ended.

**_Happy Birthday to you!_**

Betsy Ann clapped her hands. "Oh, Hop Sing, the cake looks so pretty!"

"Missy make wish. Blow out candles."

"Go on, sweetheart." Hoss rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Chocolate cake. Mm mm!"

Adam laid a gentle hand on her back. "You'd better blow out those candles before Hoss faints right off his chair!"

Betsy Ann giggled, swinging her legs beneath the table. "I made my wish, Mama. Is it okay to blow out the candles now?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

After climbing to her knees, Betsy Ann looked around the table. She smiled at each person, took a deep breath, and then blew out the candles on the cake.

Applause followed, and Hoss quickly held his plate in the air.

Hop Sing shook his head as he sliced into the cake. "First piece go to birthday girl."

Hoss blushed. "Aw, I know that, Hop Sing. I was just holdin' the plate for her."

As Hop Sing slid a triangle of triple layer cake onto the plate, Betsy Ann sat properly in her chair. "It's all right if Hoss gets the first piece. I don't want him to faint off his chair!"

The laughter that ensued continued as more of the cake was served, and soon everyone relaxed back into their chairs, satisfied with the evening's celebration. Everyone, that is, except Hoss. Ben's eyes grew wide as his middle son reached for his third piece of cake. Joe sat agape, and Adam puffed his cheeks in disbelief.

Hoss growled softly as he slipped his fork into the layers. "Yes sir, I sure do like chocolate cake."

Jessamine giggled. Douglas shook his head and wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin.

Betsy Ann peered sideways at her mother, and then carefully dipped her finger into a blob of icing that had fallen onto her plate. "Yes sir, I sure do like icing."

Yet again, laughter filled the room, and it was several seconds before anyone heard the rapping on the front door.

"Joseph."

"I sure do like answerin' the door, Pa." Joe chuckled as he hurried through the room. He flipped the latch, anxious to return to the celebration. His face sobered when he greeted the visitor. "Sheriff Mason."

"Mr. Cartwright." Mason waited. "May I come in?"

Reluctantly, Joe ushered him inside, and the moment the sheriff stepped into view, the celebration came to a halt.

Ben was first to his feet. He offered his hand, intent on guiding Mason away from the dining room. "Good evening, sheriff."

Mason shook Ben's hand but refused to be herded away from the gathering. "I need to speak with Mrs. Reid."

At the table, Jessamine lowered her eyes. Her heart began to race, and beneath the table, on her lap, she wrung her hands.

Douglas appeared, standing tall and firm. "We're celebrating this evening, Sheriff Mason. Perhaps this can wait until tomorrow?"

Mason widened his stance, speaking past Douglas Drake. "Mrs. Reid, would you care to hear what I have to say, or would you prefer I return tomorrow?"

Jessamine rose slowly and started toward the sheriff. At first, she avoided the watchful eyes of Adam, Joe, and Hoss, but when she saw Betsy Ann's worried face, she stopped suddenly. She started to speak, words escaping her, until she saw Adam reach for Betsy Ann and pull her onto his lap.

"Mama?" Betsy Ann said softly as she settled back against Adam's chest.

"It's all right. I'm just going to speak with the sheriff. You stay with Adam."

Betsy Ann reached for Adam's hand. "Yes, ma'am."

Jessamine caressed her daughter's shoulder as she passed. She stepped alongside Douglas, soaking in the comfort of his presence.

Douglas pressed his hand against her back, but Jessamine walked forward, coming face to face with Sheriff Mason.

"The celebration has already been interrupted, sheriff. I doubt the atmosphere could even remotely return to its joyous state." Jessamine glared at him, the bravado nearly draining her. "If we must speak, I suggest we do it outside."

Mason broke away from her gaze, glancing quickly at Betsy Ann.

"I think that best, Mrs. Reid."

"Well, I don't," Ben said sharply. "Mrs. Reid, I don't think you should speak to the sheriff without the benefit of council."

Douglas echoed Ben's objection, but Jessamine turned and walked out onto the porch, leaving the door wide open and the others anxious and surprised.

Adam handed Betsy Ann to Hoss. "Stay here, sweetheart." He nodded at Hoss and then rushed to the porch. Standing next to his father, Adam folded his arms across his chest.

"Sheriff Mason, I-"

"Jess, please, we can send for Mr. Long, and then you can-"

"No," Jessamine said softly. "I want to talk to the sheriff and-"

"Mrs. Reid," Mason said, "if you don't mind, I think you should not talk and just listen."

Douglas had heard enough. "Now, see here, Mason, she's entitled to-"

"Nothing." Mason reached into his vest and removed a folded paper square. "Mrs. Reid is entitled to nothing. Nothing from the San Francisco Bank and Trust, that is."

When no one spoke, Mason continued. "I'm afraid the serial numbers are a match."

Jessamine nodded. "I was afraid they would be."

"I spoke to your lawyer before coming out here. We agree that the money can not be willed to you, Mrs. Reid. I'm sorry."

Jessamine righted her shoulders. "No need to be sorry, Sheriff Mason. The money means nothing to me. It won't erase the memories of a frightened little girl. It won't bring back the people Crocker killed. It won't remove the bruise on Mr. Cartwright's temple or the scar on Marshal Drake's chest."

Overcome, Jessamine held up her hand, holding any comments at bay. She took several deep breaths, righted herself again, and looked Mason square in the eyes. "Over the last two days, I've come to several conclusions, and those conclusions are my reality whether anyone else believes them or not. Oliver was not a member of Crocker's gang. Oliver did not rob a bank. What Oliver did do was take his daughter and their friend to Paiute Bluff. And while there, Oliver did come upon a buried box – the box containing the stolen money."

Her breathing came in short gasps between her words, and Douglas reached for her, putting his arm around her waist.

Jessamine pushed him away. "My late husband was a hard-working man, a good, kind husband, and a loving father. What he wasn't" she choked back a sob, "was a successful rancher. Oh, we never went without food or necessities, but Oliver's dream to have a ranch that allowed him to not only provide, but to earn enough to save, never happened. I suppose," she said as she seemed to drift to another place, "Oliver finding that money . . . well, it meant that last part of his dream had come true."

"Mrs. Reid," Mason said, "he should have turned the money over to the authorities. It didn't belong to him."

"I know. It belonged-it belongs to people who earned it. Sheriff, you'll see to it that the money is returned to its rightful owners, won't you?"

"Yes, I will."

"My husband . . . Will he be . . . You can't . . ."

"As far as your husband is concerned, I'm afraid it will be impossible to keep his name out of the papers. Murders were committed, a bank robber was killed."

"I understand."

"Mrs. Reid, no charges will be brought. No one, including me, believes you knew anything about your husband's doings."

Jessamine tilted, falling against Douglas. The world was spinning before her, and voices sounded as if they were spoken beneath water.

"Jess, Jess, are you all right?"

Douglas's face appeared, blurred at first. She tried to sit up, tugging against the back of the settee with one hand and Douglas's shirt with the other.

"Jess, you fainted. Take it slow and easy."

She sat up, her warm face growing hot. Embarrassed and frightened, she searched the room for her daughter.

"Hoss and Joe took her out to the barn," Ben said. "Those kittens are going to be spoiled from all of her attention." His light-hearted tone sobered. "Is there anything I can get you, Mrs. Reid?"

Jessamine looked around again. Had she heard correctly? Was it really over?

"Where's the sheriff?" she asked.

Douglas smiled. "He's gone back to Carson City. It's over, Jess. It's all over."


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

New beginnings are not always easy, but denying the possibilities was never a consideration for Douglas and Jessamine.

With the stolen money returned and her ranch in Carson City sold, she and Betsy Ann had said a tearful goodbye to friends, happy memories, and their beloved husband and father, Oliver.

Marshal Douglas Drake had accepted a new position. With Jessamine and Betsy Ann at his side, he'd been sworn in as the new sheriff of Genoa, and the town had held a barn-raising at his new ranch, the Circle D.

The Cartwrights and Hop Sing were the very first guests at the Circle D, and their visit included a tour of the ranch, an introduction to the first littler of kittens born in the Circle D barn loft, and attendance at the wedding of Douglas and Jessamine.

The friendship between the Cartwrights and the Drakes blossomed, and when the newest member of the Drake family arrived, no one was surprised by the proud parents' name choice. Adam Drake quickly stole the hearts of all the Cartwrights, and Hop Sing promised to bake the child's birthday cakes for many years to come.


End file.
